Love Without Labels
by HettyBobcat
Summary: Rod, Ricky, & Nicky are one big happy family. But Nicky's no longer the center of Rod's world and this brings up some confusing emotions Nicky has to address. Things start getting a little tense as a love triangle starts to form. Who stays and who goes?
1. Chapter 1

There was a tingling sensation in the pit of his stomach, like blood returning to a numb area, and the strange, yet pleasurable reaction trickled down his body, warming his veins and causing his toes to curl. All this from a simple, single kiss placed delicately to Nicky's pulse, right under the sharp of his jaw. The contact had lingered a moment, a few seconds, and it was enough to ignite the man from within. Nicky blindly reached out to embrace the person who elicited such an emotion within him. He circled an arm around the figure's back and a hand up into the short cropped hair. It was fine yet bristly. He raked his fingers through the mane, too short to tangle in, and immediately he knew.

Rod, his roommate, was planting a gentle affection to his throat, but there was an acceptance within him as if he wasn't surprised in the least, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and so he wrapped his arm tighter and held the head firmer, and buried his face in the cook of the other man's neck and sighed in complete contentment.

Nicky's eyes fluttered gently open in the hazy gray of the early dawn. The molten sun had yet to crest the New York skyline and the living room was drenched in a bleary, dreary colorlessness. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. The memory came back to him in an instant and he placed a hand over the side of his neck as if feeling for the residual kiss. He rubbed over the spot gingerly, almost mournfully, before raising up on the sofa, propping his incline on his elbows. He looked across the length of the couch, over the plush arm, and to the closed door beyond which lead to the bedroom the two of them had shared up until recently.

Ricky, Rod's new boyfriend, was sharing that room now. He felt like he wanted to be upset with the new-comer but in truth, he really couldn't be. Ricky was a gosh-darn likable guy! He was fun! He was funny! He was playful but responsible and got along famously with Nicky, despite the fact that him moving in lead to Nicky being booted from his room and left to sleep in the living room. And the fact, of course, that Nicky now had to vie for Rod's attention.

Nicky and Rod had been friends since the first day they met in college and roommates only slightly less as long. And all that time, all those long years, Nicky had Rod all to himself. But Nicky sighed as he looked at the closed door and convinced himself the only thing he missed was his room.

*kiss!*

Nicky opened his eyes again, rudely awoken by a sloppy kiss to his forehead and came face to face with his mirror-double.

"Morning honey, I made your favorite!" Ricky joked, dodging Nicky's frantically swinging arms as he thrashed about, scrubbing his forehead as if Ricky had dripped acid on it.

"Ricky, dammit!" Nicky groused as he sat up on the sofa.

"Hey, Doppelganger, you slept in again. I'm about to run the vacuum cleaner." Ricky walked into the kitchen and picked up a piece of toast from a plate on the table. Nicky joined the other man in the kitchen, grabbing his own piece of toast that Ricky had prepared for him.

"Rod's at work already?" Nicky asked, partly making small-talk.

The crisp slice of bread hung from Ricky's mouth jelly-side up as he stirred copious amounts of cream and sugar into his coffee. He tried to answer through his breakfast but the nod of his head was all the answer that mattered. Nicky sat down at the table, eating sluggishly while he watched the new roommate move about the apartment, picking up a clutter of newspapers before plugging the vacuum into the wall-socket.

Dark brown hair, an olive complexion, and bright, wide hazel eyes; Ricky and Nicky were like twins, except that they weren't related. Ricky's muscles flexed under his skin, tightening and stretching as he glided the vacuum cleaner back and forth over the carpet. His lack of sleeves accentuated his build and Nicky found himself wondering if he wore sleeveless shirts so much to show off his muscles or because his muscles were so big that most shirts with sleeves were uncomfortable to him. Nicky looked down at his own physique with a little bit of disappointment. And then he ate another piece of toast.

The noisy machine whirred to a stop, the cacophony winding down into silence and suddenly everything sounded too quiet, like cotton had been shoved into their ears.

"I'm going out on the fire-escape for a smoke." Ricky said, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and tapping them in his palm before shaking a single smoke from the package and taking it between his lips.

"I thought you were quitting." Nicky pointed out.

"Nah," responded Ricky, "I just told Rod that so he'd stop nagging me about it." He walked to the window near the computer desk and slid it open, preparing to crawl out.

"I'm gonna tell Rod." Nicky called out. That stopped Ricky in his tracks. He ducked back in, cigarette still hanging loosely from his mouth, un-lit. He placed a hand on his sharply jutting hip and huffed in a very effeminate manner.

"Better not."

"He's gonna find out sooner or later."

"Later preferably. Look, I'm not hurting anything! I smoke outside so I don't stink up the apartment! And I brush my teeth and use mouthwash so I don't smell like it. And I don't do it very much. One or two cigarettes here at home and two or so while I'm at work!" Ricky's defensive tone was turning into more of an imploring plea for mercy. Nicky waved his hand dismissively.

"I'm not really gonna tell. But you still shouldn't go around lying to Rod."

"A little white lie now and then keeps a relationship happy. If I told the truth exclusively, we'd just end up arguing all the time like you two." Ricky laughed as he climbed back out the window to enjoy his smoke.

Nicky made himself comfortable on the couch, wadding up his blanket and pillow and shoving them to the side. He flipped on the television. "Oh, no way! Plinko! How lucky am I!"

A minute or so passed before Ricky poked his head back into the window.

"Dude," he started, a puff of smoke billowing from his mouth. He frantically tried to swish at the cloud to dissipate it. "Could you bring me my coffee. I left it on the table in the kitchen." Nicky craned his neck back and groaned.

"Just wait and drink your coffee when you come back in. You'll be done with your cigarette in like five minutes." And with that he turned his attention back to the television, a long haired woman screamed ecstatically as her dollar-sign-adorned disk plinked down into the $1000 slot. Nicky made a little cha-ching motion with his fist.

"Nicky, you're so fucking lazy," Ricky said as he ducked back out, took a long drag off his cigarette before flicking the remains far and away off the side of the metal balcony.

Ricky plopped down next to Nicky, coffee in hand and eyes on The Price is Right.

"You suck."

"You swallow."

"You wish."

The two chided absently. A moment of muteness settled between them for a second before Nicky quirked his lip in a sneer, fanning his hand.

"Your breath smells like cigarettes."

"So? I don't kiss you, so why do you care?" Ricky shrugged.

"You kissed me this morning!" Nicky responded irately.

"Don't act like you don't like it." Ricky smirked playfully.

"Not from you." Nicky pouted without thinking.

"Oh yeah, sorry I'm not Rod."

"What did you say?" Nicky's tone turned serious, soft, almost concerned. The playful air stolen from the moment Ricky held up his hands in defense.

"I was just joking, jeez!"

Nicky let the comment slide, didn't pursue an explanation, but inside he couldn't get the comment out of his mind. Why out of all the people he could have used, why Rod? He could have said Pamela Anderson or Beyonce or, hell, even Kate Monster! Why did he say Rod?

"Why do you smoke anyway? You know it's killing you." Nicky muttered, not entirely sure where his sour mood was coming from today.

"You mean besides the fact that I'm addicted to the nicotine?" Ricky began sarcastically. An unamused stare from Nicky prompted him to elucidate. "Because I like it. I'm used to it. And I think it sucks when people try to tell me I can't have something that I want. It's like, I need it, whether it's bad for me or not."

Nicky nodded and looked back toward the television. The two sat unspeaking for a time. Nicky was in deep contemplation while Ricky seemed content to watch a blonde GI win the showcase. He held his mostly empty coffee cup out toward the television as if giving it a cheers. "Drew Carrey, you have ruined this show for me." And with that the well-cut man stood from his seat, seemingly oblivious to his friend's inner struggle. "Buddy, I'm gonna take a shower, so if you have to take a piss do it now. I need to get ready for work."

"Oh, uh, yeah." Nicky responded, taking Ricky's good advice and closing the bathroom door behind him. "Hey Ricky, can I ask you a question?" he called from within.

"Don't talk to me while you're pissing! It's gross!"

"You're gross." Nicky muttered.

"Just wait until you come out of the bathroom and then you can ask me a question."

Nicky exited, approaching Ricky, wiping his hands on his pants. "What? It's water! I just washed them!" Nicky responded to Ricky's wide-eyed gape of disgust.

"Okay, so what did you want to ask me?" Ricky leaned on the kitchen counter.

"How did you know you were gay? Just curious." Nicky stuck his head in the refrigerator, searching out a can of Sprite, but also using it as a way to avoid looking the other man in the eyes.

"Probably when I was in the 6th or 7th grade. I always had to make myself not look at the other guys in the locker-room after football practice. I mean, if you're gay, you're always gay, even from the beginning. But it's not until you get a little bit older that you kind of label yourself. It's dumb, but that little title we adorn changes our lives and who we are. Why? Oh my god, Nicky, you're coming out! To me! That's so awesome. I mean, I always kind of knew, but still… After work I'm buying you a drink!" Ricky had gone from reminiscent to ecstatic in the blink of an eye.

Nicky, who had found his beverage and taken a swig during the interim almost choked on the carbonated fluid, spitting it out in a spray all over the interior of the fridge. He coughed raggedly as he tried to shake his head, vehemently attempting to assure Ricky that was NOT the case.

"No," he coughed and cleared his throat, "I'm not coming out…"

"Trust me, buddy. This is a safe environment. You couldn't come out in a better place than in an apartment you share with two other gay guys!" Ricky interjected in a mislead attempt to quell Nicky's bashfulness.

"No, that's not what I mean. I'm not gay, Ricky. I'm not coming out. I was just asking. That's all. Curiosity, small talk, what ever you want to call it. I don't really care that much. I was just wondering."

Ricky nodded, giving a slightly disbelieving "Mmhmm." He wrapped one arm around his middle and rested the elbow of the other arm on it, flicking the wrist back in a very Cruella Devil kind of posture. It seemed that Ricky always switched from burly, manly mode into surly diva mode when he was being either defensive or facetious. "Dude, you're so deep in the closet you're finding Christmas presents." Ricky said, smacking his lips as he pushed his way past his roommate to make his way to the shower.

"Pssh, how long have you been waiting to use _that_ one?" Nicky challenged.

"Like, ever since I first moved in!" Ricky laughed, closing the door.

Despite himself, Nicky had to laugh too. As long as he didn't think on it too much, it was benign enough of a statement. As long as he didn't consider the inexplicably painful longing he seemed to feel now that he had to share Rod with someone else. As long as he didn't acknowledge how unfair it seemed that he had known Rod longer and yet the other man, the new-comer, got so many more privileges, so much more… intimacy. Nicky shook his head. Heavy thoughts like that could wait. Now it was time for the Hundred Thousand Dollar Pyramid.


	2. Chapter 2

Love Without Labels:

An Avenue Q Fanfiction

(Rod/Nicky) 3

(I don't own any Avenue Q anything… but I wish I did, and if I did, you can bet there'd be way more gay-puppet stuff going on than they put in the show!)

Chapter 2

Returning from work, Ricky pushed open the door to find Nicky, head hidden behind the low shelf which held the television. The thought came to him briefly of sneaking up behind his roommate and startling him, but it was a passing fancy and he thought better of it. Ricky plopped down on the sofa. The softened thump drew Nicky's attention and he pulled his head carefully out from between the shelf and the wall and dusted his hands as if he had been hard at work.

"Hey Doppelganger. What'cha doing?"

The question caused Nicky to grin broadly as if he had been waiting specifically for it.

"Oh, nothing," Nicky started playfully, "except hooking up my brand-new regular Nintendo!" for effect he whipped out a flat, square game cartridge from a back pocket in a fluid movement, presenting it like a fan. "And I got Excite Bike to go with it."

"Excite Bike? Let's play!" Ricky practically fell off of the couch, digging under the cabinet to find the console and controllers. Nicky joined him, blowing into the game cartridge before shoving it roughly into the opening for the console and forcefully pushing it down, wedging a thin hard-back novel into the ancient gaming device, ghetto-rigging it to ensure that it would function. "I want to go first!" Ricky exclaimed, taking the controller like a sandwich in the hand of a starving man. He jumped back onto the couch and snuggled back in the corner, feet crossed lotus style under him.

"Hey, it's my game. I just bought it. I should go first!"

"I'm company. Company gets to go first."

"You're not company. You live here."

Ricky started to get whiney. "Come on! Rod will be home any minute and I won't get to play then. You can have the game after that. And, you'll have it all day tomorrow while I'm at work! Please!" He put his hands together, controller still clutched protectively, and drew his 'please' out emphatically. Despite himself, Nicky smiled, rolling his eyes. He joined the other on the sofa. Nostalgia rushed over the two like a mild spring zephyr when that staccato music of electronic beeps began.

Nicky sat and watched Ricky go through the time-trial, trying to beat some pre-existing record written into the game, and the conversation was minimal; mostly the one-sided string of "Ooh, Ah! Did you see that?" on Ricky's part, and the non-committal grunts and "mmhmm" to feign interest. Nicky tried to suppress it, but he couldn't help but feeling a little like Ricky was taking over and slowly phasing him out. It was silly, of course. Ricky was a great guy and was endlessly accommodating to him. Nicky knew what it was. It was jealousy. Ricky had that amazing physique, his room, his best friend, and now his game. Nicky sighed. He could tell he was being childish.

Ricky got through the time trial, a meager minute of game-play, and he handed the control pad over. It took Nicky a moment to register that it was his turn. He had fully expected Ricky to play continuously until Rod walked through the door. "Thanks." He said, and took to playing.

"I used to love this game when I was a kid." Ricky commented. I didn't have any games of my own, but every week we would go to the movie-rental place and they had a huge selection of regular Nintendo games and I'd rent a new one every week. I must have played them all."

"Hey," Nicky started after a brief silence in the conversation, "I was wondering –" Nicky paused, handing the controller back but keeping his eyes glued to the set. "Maybe I could move back into the room?" the little motorcyclist stopped on the track, the time still running. He started up again with a pixilated shake. Ricky glanced over at Nicky. He was considering the request, Nicky could tell. He wasn't sure why he had asked such a stupid question. The couch wasn't uncomfortable. Maybe he just, wanted back in. Maybe if he had a room and a bed in this apartment, he would feel like he belonged there. It would be so nice to be able to be so close to –

"You mean, you take the bedroom and Rod and I sleep in the living room?" Ricky asked, not quite getting it. Nicky let the thought come and go 'no, you sleep on the sofa and Rod and I get the bedroom.' But that sentiment was gone in an instant.

"No, no. Like, maybe we all share the bedroom."

Ricky considered it for a moment. The dimness of the living room, lit by the warm yellow glow from the kitchen and the soft blue light from the television, cast sharp shadows and the pose Ricky took in his momentary contemplation, in the light washing over his face, looked like he was ready to get an artistic portrait taken. At length Ricky nodded slowly and turned his attention back to the one to whom he was addressing. "Yeah. You should ask Rod, but I'm sure that will be fine. I mean, there are still two beds in the room and Rod and I only take up the one."

Nicky cringed internally at the last sentence.

"And I mean, it's not like we have sex that often." Ricky continued in the most casual of ways. Nicky turned a serious, if not slightly pained, eye toward his friend.

"Please don't talk about that kind of stuff."

Ricky chuckled warmly and patted Nicky on the shoulder. "Buddy, you've got to get over the stigma -" But Nicky cut him short.

"No. It's not that. It's that it's Rod. Ya know?"

Ricky leaned back, stretching his legs out onto the floor and crossing them at the ankles. He was wearing heavy black boots and dark blue denim jeans. He folded his hands comfortably behind his head and lounged, looking up at the ceiling with a half smile on his face. He turned his head lazily back to Nicky who had changed positions himself, taking his legs and curling them up in front of him, balling himself up in the opposite corner of the couch. He tried to smile casually too but it looked more like a person had tied a piece of fishing line to the corner of his mouth and stretched it out to force a smile upon him.

"Rod's a grown man, you know. He's going to have sex. That's the way of the world." Ricky said.

"I'd rather not think about it and I'd even less rather talk about it."

"Fair enough." Ricky stated his friendly acquiescence. The doorknob rattled sharply and Rod pushed his way in, heavily encumbered with his briefcase, umbrella, and several plastic bags of groceries. Over his dark, drift-wood gray suit with a burgundy tie, he wore a long, heavy trench-coat of a matching warm gray color. It was dotted with rain-drops, repelled by the water-resistant fabric. Ricky jumped up in a flash to help the banker with his load.

"How are my boys?" Rod greeted, smiling and breathless. His glasses fell low on the bridge of his nose, splattered with water. "It's certainly blustery out this evening." He pecked Ricky a hello on the cheek before the two carried the groceries into the kitchen. Nicky got up too, bounding over the arm of the couch to help put the food away in the cabinets.

"The apartment looks nice." Rod commented, just making conversation after a long day at work.

"I just picked up a little and vacuumed." Ricky said, wrapping his arms around Rod from behind and giving him a hug, swaying him gently, playfully, just enough to make it hard to put a can of mushrooms away in the cabinet. Nicky fumbled through another bag, pulling out a carton of strawberry icecream. He opened the freezer and added from behind the door,

"I helped too." Both Rod and Ricky looked at him with surprise.

Rod adjusted his glasses, genuinely intrigued. "What did you do?" he asked.

"Well," Nicky paused, suddenly feeling less accomplished, "I didn't mess anything up."

Rod smiled and nodded. "It's a start." He turned back to the food, separating it out by meals. "Tomorrow we're having pot roast," Rod said, presenting the raw, packaged meat before he put it in the fridge, "but tonight we're having fajitas."

"Need any help?" Ricky asked, casually kissing Rod's shoulder and moving away to get a cutting board out and a knife.

"Yes, please."

Nicky stood at the open entrance to the kitchen, more just a lack of wall than an entry, really, and watched. Ricky and Rod seemed to have such a healthy, functional relationship. It made Nicky feel infinitely lonely. He was here, he was a part of their lives, but he was on the outside looking in. If Ricky had never come along – strike that, if Nicky had never brought Ricky into their lives, would Nicky have ever had a chance? Nicky internally laughed at himself, allowing a small smirk to cross his lips. He sat back on the sofa and resumed his game. "A chance at what?" he whispered to himself, almost amused.

Later that night, long after supper and with Nicky curled up on the sofa in the living room, Ricky pulled off his shirt in preparation for bed. He started to leave it at that but the sudden remembrance of Nicky's request prompted him to find a teeshirt to put on. "Better get in the habit." He commented to himself quietly. Rod sat up in the bed already, thumbing through a book about a cat who helps solve mysteries. It was his brief quiet time. But it was soon to be interrupted.

"Hey, Nicky wanted to know if he could move back into the room."

Rod adjusted his glasses and looked up. "What?"

"He's getting kind of tired of sleeping in the living room and wanted to know if he could have his old bed back. I told him it was okay with me but we'd have to run it by you."

Rod closed his book on his thumb to hold his place and he took a deep breath as if that would help him consider the pros and cons better. He looked away, mentally delving into himself to determine if it was a good idea or not.

"Well," he started at some length, "we'd have much less private time together. But I suppose it's alright with me if it's alright with you."

Ricky nodded his agreement as he sat down at the foot of the bed, removing his shoes and stripping out of his jeans, leaving himself in a teeshirt and boxers. He climbed under the covers beside his boyfriend and snuggled close. "So, are you up for one last wallow in the hay before junior moves back in?" Ricky joked, but only partly so, as they both knew it was pretty much true. Rod smiled and kissed his partner on his fingertips as if to agree.

"Ya know," Ricky started up a brief conversation, just to fill the air as he pulled out of his newly adorned shirt, "I think Nicky's pining for you a little bit." Rod almost laughed at the absurdity of the notion, but it carried a significant weight for him and he couldn't simply ignore it.

"What makes you think that?" Rod asked, sitting back up.

"Don't ask me how I know, it's just a feeling. But let's not talk about that anymore." Ricky finished his sentence with a heart-felt kiss to the mouth. He twined his fingers between those of his boyfriend. Rod turned his head away. Suddenly his heart and his head just weren't in it.

"Uh, Ricky, not tonight. I don't really feel in the mood."

Ricky drooped his shoulders, disappointed. "Aw, come on. Show mercy." He cuddled up against Rod again who still looked toward the wall. The persistent lover ground his face into the other's ribcage and rubbed his head against the side like a cat seeking attention. "Throw a guy a bone." Ricky joked suggestively, reaching around lewdly. Rod sighed and agreed. The whole affair was automatic and mechanical, but Ricky didn't seem to mind or notice. Rod found himself wishing Ricky hadn't said anything at all about Nicky. His mind was occupied throughout their love-making, and afterwards as Ricky wrapped himself possessively around Rod, spooning against him in the dark, falling asleep with that almost rigor mortis grip, Rod could not slip into slumber so easily. That simple sentence, that mild and casual idle conversation, had uprooted a doubt in Rod's mind he was trying desperately to bury again.

It wasn't fair. Rod spent so many years miserably in love with someone who could never love him back. It was an impossibility, like defying the laws of physics or making it out of a department store unscathed during an after-Thanksgiving-sale. He had Ricky now. He had pushed his feelings for Nicky so far down deep within himself that he was certain he could keep them under control. But his emotions were strong and this tiny bit of nourishment set them blossoming once more. He found himself wanting to shrug out of his partner's grip, wanting to separate himself somewhat from the man who cared so much about him. He felt the desire, no, the need to make himself available, just in case Ricky's presumption turned out to be true.

Rod chastised himself for thinking that way. To be drawn so easily away from his significant other? It certainly wasn't healthy. Ricky had felt secure enough in their relationship to even bring up such a thing. And what if it turned out to be true? Would Rod cast aside the one who, for even in the short time they'd known each other, supported him, held him, gave so much of himself? Rod shook his head slowly against his pillow, feeling the smooth cotton fabric against his cheek. Nicky moving back into the room would be so much more uncomfortable now. Oh if only Ricky had kept his mouth shut.


	3. Chapter 3

Love Without Labels:

An Avenue Q Fanfiction

(Rod/Nicky) 3

(I don't own any Avenue Q anything… but I wish I did, and if I did, you can bet there'd be way more gay-puppet stuff going on than they put in the show!)

Chapter 3

"Night Junior." Ricky joked, flicking off the lamp between the two beds the next night.

"Shut up." Nicky replied, though his smile was evident in his voice. He threw a pillow and by the sound of it, Ricky caught the thing with a triumphant "Ha!" He sent it hurling back, hitting Nicky in the shoulder. Nicky fluffed it up and replaced it behind his head. He was in a fantastic mood. His own bed had never felt so comfortable before in his life. And he was back in. "Night Rod, buddy." He called as if the beds were more than the mere 3 feet apart.

"Goodnight Nicky." Rod's voice was pleasant but curt. Blankets and mattresses rustled, an almost deafening flurry of movement and noise ensued as everyone in the room settled down into comfortable positions, and just as quickly, melted away into blissful silence. Through the dark, Nicky stared in the direction of the other bed. His eyes twinkled wetly, highlighted by some stray strip of light from a street-lamp outside, beaming tiny dots of luminance through spaces in the blinds.

So still his roommates were, heaped up on that bed which was far too small. It looked infinitely uncomfortable and cramped. Nicky smiled and stretched out. He wasn't crowded. He wasn't cramped. He had his whole bed now. No more curling fetal style, face into the sofa cushions. He could sprawl out like a starfish, which he did. That was the best thing about being single. One never had to worry about someone hogging the blanket, invading personal space, pressing close, snuggling together, holding each other all night long…

Nicky flopped his head over, looking back toward the silhouette of his two friends. Nicky wanted what they had. But more than that, he didn't just want someone to cuddle. He didn't just want a relationship. He felt a kind of jealousy of Ricky all of a sudden. He felt the concept fully develop in his mind like a fruit ripening in fast-forward. He coveted what Ricky had and what Ricky had was Rod. Nicky yanked the pillow from under his own head, biting the fluffy thing hard enough to quell his sudden pang of annoyance.

Nicky turned over facing the door, fetal style, on the edge of his bed.

The break of day had Rod stretching out of bed, sliding away from his lover's arms and directly to the shower to begin his morning. He padded quietly enough over the carpeted floor, but the shower faucet squeaked out a shrill metallic sound which sliced through the docile environment of the apartment for a moment brief enough to pass with one wondering if they had heard anything at all, but loud enough to draw attention.

The months of sleeping in the living room had made Nicky unaccustomed to falling asleep so early and he was adequately rested enough for the sounds of Rod's movements to awaken him. The momentary shriek of the hot-water knob acted as an alarm clock and Nicky obeyed the clarion suggestion of wakefulness.

Ricky maintained the peaceful mask of sleep, hugging his pillow in the absence of his bed-mate. He was used to sleeping through Rod's morning routine and, in truth, the sounds were not so loud. Nicky half grinned, looking at what was essentially himself in the other bed.

He stood, looking around dumbly as if only just discovering this hour of the day existed and he couldn't imagine what to do with himself. His initial notion was to flip on the television, of course, but as he closed the bedroom door behind him and lumbered into the living room, the thought came to him that he should probably at least set some coffee to making.

That was easy enough. The coffee pot gurgled and sputtered and spit steam and the smell was rich and strong. The aroma veritably imbued him with vigor and the desire to do something. A paper. That's what he'd do. It was easy, simple, close, and accomplishable. Shorts and a teeshirt were fine enough to go down to the corner and buy a newspaper. And so he did. It was strange, the sense he had within him this day, as if he was an adult for the first time. Silliness, he acknowledged. But perhaps his tiny sense of pride he felt doing these little things like Rod did every morning, maybe it was indicative of something. Maybe Nicky could feel like this every day. The thought, however, made Nicky feel a little tired, thinking of waking up early every single morning for the rest of his life. He'd start small – think about it one day at a time.

The metallic sound cried out again as the water in the shower ceased its flow. Rod stepped out of the bathroom door wrapped up in a towel, his hair and shoulders still very much wet. The rustling of newspaper drew his attention to where Nicky was sitting at the table reading. Rod didn't have his glasses on, so he couldn't quite tell who he was looking at. A slightly out-of-focus hand lifted and a warm voice said, "Morning, Rod, buddy."

Nicky unabashedly looked his roommate up and down. Even after more than 10 years, Nicky very rarely ever saw Rod fresh from the shower or wearing so little. Nicky usually slept in nearly every morning, often waking long after Rod had left for work. Now, Rod was not muscular or buff like his boyfriend. But he was certainly toned and healthy-looking. He was lean and tall like a model, and with his wet hair falling in spiky tendrils this way and that, he looked like he could be. One would never think he could look that way, when one only ever saw him in business suits behind a pair of glasses and a briefcase.

Despite his state of undress, his surprise overcame his modesty and Rod took a seat at the table. "Well you're up early." Rod commented, knowing who he was addressing now. Nicky just shrugged.

"Want a cup of coffee?" Nicky offered, standing from the table.

"I really should get dressed first." Rod replied, also standing. Nicky's eyes traveled over his friend again, but this time he tried to be more subtle about it. He tried to lock his attention at Rod's face instead of roving their way down that clearly defined line that divides a person's torso in two.

"Hey, I was thinking," Nicky began, desperate to strike up a conversation both to control his gawking and to keep Rod there just a little longer, "we don't hang out much anymore. Maybe you and me could go do something, just the two of us, after you get home from work."

Rod took a moment to consider it. Going out, just the two of them? Ricky's careless conversation from the other night came back to him and he dared to believe it, dared to indulge in the fantastic. But whether that was where Nicky was coming from or not, whether those were Nicky's intentions or whether he was being his usual casual, friendly self, it was certainly where Rod's mind was. He couldn't even begin to assume on Nicky's behalf. He wouldn't even try. But now he had a moral dilemma.

It would be cheating, wouldn't it? Even if Nicky intended for them just to go out as roommates and best friends, even if they went to some bar where Nicky would watch football and Rod would sit sipping scotch and trying to entertain himself by reading the menu over and over again… even if Nicky's intentions were purely platonic, Rod's weren't. And if Rod went out feeling that way, then wouldn't that be as good as cheating on Ricky?

He shook his head, slowly and laboriously at first, like a stone statue gaining the new ability to move but still confined by the weight of its body. Rod tried to adjust his facial expression to be one of business-like frugality of his emotions. "No." he said. "No, I don't think it's a good idea."

"Why?" Nicky asked, almost sounding hurt, almost.

Rod sat in silence for a moment trying to come up with a good reason.

"Coffee in the nude? Wish I'd gotten the invite." Ricky joked, walking into the room, right up to Rod. He hugged Rod's still wet shoulders. Nicky felt guilty all of a sudden and cleared his throat, sitting back down and picking up the paper, reading over some article where a woman gives domestic advice. He'd already learned how to clean artificial flowers with salt and how to keep his meringue from weeping in the refrigerator.

"Hon, you've got that annual audit coming up next week. You said you wanted to go in early today to look for those financial papers." Ricky murmured into Rod's cheek, kissing there afterwards. The intimacy made Rod feel uncomfortable in Nicky's presence, but he tried to ignore it and act normally.

"Oh, Ricky, you're right. I need to get dressed and go." And with that, Rod hurried into the bedroom. Ricky grabbed himself a cup of coffee, preparing it in his customary way with cream and sugar in such quantities as to cover up any possible coffee flavor. He fiddled in the cabinet above the coffee pot, looking for a travel-mug. Nicky kept his focus on the gray newsprint in his hands.

Ricky returned to the table, both cups in his hands, and when he had set them down, he made sure the travel cup's lid was secure for Rod to have his morning coffee on the bus to work. Nicky glanced up, wondering to himself if he would have even thought to do that if he had been in Ricky's place.

"Rod has that audit coming up so he's going to be mega-stressed all week. You know how he gets." Ricky paused, waiting for confirmation. Nicky nodded his agreement.

"So we need to really try to keep the apartment clean."

Nicky saluted. "I was already going to do that." He assured. Ricky smiled and nodded. "Well," Nicky began again at length, drawing his word out long enough to narrate the pushing out of his chair, "I've got a busy day ahead of me."

Ricky looked shocked. The spoon he stirred his coffee with was hanging out of his mouth, licking it clean of the sweet beverage, but abandoned from the surprise. "You do?" he choked.

"Yes. I do." Nicky assured, adjourning from the pseudo-dining area, half in the kitchen, half in the living room, and made his way to the bathroom to shower. Ricky gave a sort of facial shrug to his coffee as if it was sharing the unstated question with him. With a "huh" of resignation to un-enlightenment, he took a sip and swiped the paper for the cross-word.


	4. Chapter 4

Love Without Labels:

An Avenue Q Fanfiction

(Rod/Nicky) 3

(I don't own any Avenue Q anything… but I wish I did, and if I did, you can bet there'd be way more gay-puppet stuff going on than they put in the show!)

Chapter 4

Nicky took a long, drawn-out shower. In the heated water he thought about his day. He didn't have an agenda. He felt like he needed one. He was inspired! He was motivated! He was ready to face the morning! Grab life by the cojones! He gripped himself in a vulgar, manly display, biting his bottom lip – the look of determination and confidence. Yeah!

He released himself again when the thought came back that his itinerary was perfectly blank. He just felt like he needed to do _something!_ Maybe it was waking up so early and getting a jump on the day. Maybe it was the simple tasks, so mundane yet so adult; grabbing a paper and making coffee. Or maybe he had somebody he wanted to impress. His motivation floundered and he was quite content to stand under the running water and let his mind wander to thoughts of how proud Rod would be of him if he got a job.

A job! A job! That was it! Nicky quickly lathered his hair, haphazardly dripping foaming dollops of menthol-infused shampoo over his tightly closed eyes. Dashing from the bathroom, wrapping the towel around his waist, he galloped through the door, making the turn to duck into the bedroom to get dressed. Ricky sat on the open window sill on the outside at the fire escape smoking – a clear indication Rod had left for work already.

Holding the cigarette limp-wristed, letting it smolder away, he barely ventured a glance to the commotion just to his right, hardly letting Nicky's usual shenanigans disturb his thought process. He was mostly just staring out across the skyline, but a subtle weight could be felt deep within himself – a kind of unrest he couldn't quite place. The atmosphere was changing. It was small enough to ignore and vague enough to masquerade behind anything; it could have been some left over emotion from a sad movie he saw or a perturbing encounter on the subway. But he couldn't completely push the feeling aside.

High cirrus clouds changed from orange to white in the bluing stratosphere. The sun ascended leisurely over the arc of the sky; the wispy nimbi scarcely concealing the ferocious star. It was gonna be a hot one today, Ricky could tell. He took a long drag off of what was left of his cigarette. The salt-and-pepper ash hung precariously, mocking the shape of the roll that had been there before. He flicked the butt in his usual way, flinging it a great enough distance as to never be found. Ricky waved the non-existent smoke away as a precaution before returning to the apartment, just in time to catch Nicky walking briskly and with purpose through the living room, tucking in his shirt as he went.

"Heading out already?" Ricky asked, stopping Nicky at the door. The look alike turned and smiled with a nod.

"I most certainly am. I've got a good feeling about today! I feel like a tiger!" Nicky made some pawing jabs into the air, gushing a self-assuredness above and beyond his usual. He seemed lighter on his feet, more energetic. Ricky took all of this visual information in, shaking his head with a half smile, an unexplainable relief coming to him.

"Are you going on a date?" Ricky asked. Nicky looked confused for a second and then something akin to offended before dropping back to casual – a veritable plethora of emotions, seemingly too many to be possible in such a short span, washed over Nicky's face.

"What? No! I'm going job hunting!" Nicky resumed making little pawing punches to the air, slowly and gently, hopping back and forth like a boxer warming up.

"Job hunting?" Ricky didn't have time to suppress his surprise diplomatically. He almost choked on the words, so unexpected were they! "Well that's fantastic Nicky! Good luck with that!" he clapped a strong hand firmly on Nicky's shoulder, giving it a tiny shake to illustrate how proud he was. Nicky smiled and nodded and mumbled a "well, I'm off" as he finished tucking in his shirt and left the apartment.

Ricky's silly little bad omen seemed to return to the forefront of his mind. Nicky getting a job was a great thing. Nicky was always around. He was practically a piece of furniture. With a job he would become a contributing member of the household he had been occupying for so many years. But Ricky couldn't shake the question in his mind, why now?

The day flashed by for Nicky in a manner better suited to a tv montage: an uneventful bus ride to the subway and through the city from store to shop to restaurant and back; in and out with applications to take home, applications to turn in, phone numbers, business cards, and rejections.

He was losing his resolve almost as quickly as he had achieved it in the first place. "This is so much harder than I thought it would be." He mused aloud to himself. He walked down the sidewalk. His tidy, yet wrinkled shirt had untucked itself, sweat dotted his brow, and his brushed-down hair was starting to resume its position of self-assigned regality by standing itself upright, giving the slightly burly man the air of a 7 year old boy, being dragged to a church function with frogs in his pockets.

'_HELP WANTED: Apply Within_' a sign read in the window of a small corner shop, the façade of which was in stark contrast to the rest of the building to which it was attached. The rest of the building was about 4 stories high. The first story was a gray cinder-block and the rest was a simple red brick. The small segment that was the shop face was a dark green-painted wood. The door was at the corner of the building, the entry-way fanning out to the side-walk attractively. The door frame was a dark stained wood and very shiny. The same went for the pane of the window, but thin and unassuming. It didn't look much like a shop window except for the size. It was a large rectangle, probably about the size of an average dining table top, with the customary criss-cross square patterns in it one normally assigns to the memory of a window, but rarely encounters in real life. Four small squares high and about six small squares across.

In front of the shop was a low book shelf with three levels on it, holding mostly an assortment of paperback novels. Nicky didn't bother to peruse to see what genres were represented. Two Victorian-esque chairs sat in front and really, it was probably not totally appropriate since the sidewalk was not that wide and Nicky couldn't imagine anyone wanting to sit next to a busy street in New York to read. The chairs were notably empty anyway.

Nicky stepped over the threshold which was up the slightest of inclines, a yellow stripe painted at the top of the slope on the cement outside the door indicating one should watch their step. Nicky heeded the warning as he had to step over a slightly raised door catch on the floor. The room he entered had hard wood floors, thin strips, highly polished and deep reddish brown. The lighting was low from yellowish lights up in the ceiling spaced evenly and sparsely within their little hidden cubbies in the foam-tiled ceiling. It reminded Nicky vaguely of school, only classier. The room itself was small, the walls lined unceasingly with books, and in between were free-standing shelves which reached almost all the way up. They were heavy, dark wood, darker than the floor – more like the door-frame – and the sturdy, heavy structures blocked some of the light from the insignificant fixtures.

Nicky stepped in cautiously, feeling terribly out of place. In the entryway, before the shelves, was a space to Nicky's left where there were more of the green-upholstered Victorian style chairs and to Nicky's right, near the window, was the counter. A man with a bushy blonde mustache and thin, sharp features stood eyeing Nicky, most likely taking in the customer's timidity and wondering to himself if he would be more comfortable being left alone or asked if he needed help.

The counter was the same kind of wood as the shelves and Nicky found himself feeling very much as if he was no longer in New York but had somehow transported to London or some other quaint, cultural center. Nicky offered a smile and walked toward the counter, his red and white Converse shoes still managing to make a tapping sound on the hardwood floor. Nicky placed his hands on the counter, elbows up as if he were trying to lean forward, but he didn't. In a millisecond, Nicky looked the older gentleman over, thinking to himself that all he was missing was a green visor and sleeve-garters to look like an old-timey newspaper man.

"About your help-wanted sign," Nicky began. The man at the counter smiled from behind that thick mustache and only the corners of his mouth could be seen. He tucked his chin down as if he was thoroughly amused.

"I don't have any applications, but I can give you an interview right now if you'd like." The store owner offered. Nicky smiled and nodded. "Coffee?" he asked. Nicky hadn't noticed before, but behind the counter was a miniature coffee-shop set up. Not much, it seemed. A single cappuccino maker and a restaurant-style coffee pot with a carafe warming under the filter and an empty warming plate on top. There was a wall mirror which only took up about half the wall behind the counter and it had a metal rack in front of it holding various flavored syrups. Nicky assumed the mirror behind it was to liken it to a bar or speak-easy but for all Nicky knew the mirror might have just always been there. The mirror was closest to the window, so the light reflected in, thrown back across the counter, defusing it enough to make it seem cooler, like light coming through one's bedroom window on a rainy morning.

Next to the mirror on the side of the wall away from the window was a poster, a 20's style woman with a small beige hat and clinging beige dress and ringlet curls at her forehead held a cup of coffee. And that was the extent of it. The rest of the shop was devoted to books and shelves and things like that. Nicky wondered if the shop was frequented and this was simply a slow hour or if he had found a hidden treasure tucked away where nobody was aware. He knew Rod would adore a place like this and would probably be just as amused as the store-clerk at seeing _him_ there.

Nicky refused the coffee, shaking his palm and offering a screwed up frown as to indicate a polite refusal. "That's okay." The clerk poured himself a cup and motioned with his hand to the chairs at the other end as he side-stepped from behind the counter and made his way to sit. "So what are your qualifications?"

"Honey! I'm home!" Nicky called, sliding into the living room flamboyantly. Ricky, having been sitting at the computer, his back to the door, turned in his chair. "Hey." He offered before returning his attention to the screen.

As Nicky closed the door behind him, the late afternoon light blocked out by the blinds on the windows behind the computer desk, he looked to the coat rack near the door and wished he had a fedora and a trench-coat to hang up. The smell of tomatoes and garlic was strong in the air, sharp but soothing. "Spaghetti?" Nicky asked eagerly.

"Eggplant parmesan." Ricky replied. Nicky wrinkled his nose. He had it before. It was one of the few things Ricky could cook, surprisingly enough, and Nicky liked the taste well enough. He just didn't like the name, didn't like the thought that under the crispy bread coating, sauce, and cheese was a vegetable instead of meat.

Nicky laid himself out on the sofa, legs up over the arm-rest, feet crossed at the ankles on Rod's chair and flipped on the tv. A few moments later Ricky walked past him, into the kitchen to check on the food in the oven. Nicky couldn't see what he was doing but he heard the metallic rattling and assumed dinner was ready. Ricky made his way back into the living room and sat next to Nicky whose head was on the cushion, facing the tv.

"So how did job-hunting go?" Ricky asked.

"I had a long, sucky day. But in the end, I got a job."

Ricky chuckled sympathetically. "Well, Rod will be glad to hear- "

But Nicky cut him short. "I don't want to tell Rod just yet." Nicky sounded sheepish and Ricky was finding it very hard to read him. But he nodded just the same and agreed to keep it just between them for the time being.


	5. Chapter 5

Love Without Labels:

An Avenue Q Fanfiction

(Rod/Nicky) 3

(I don't own any Avenue Q anything… but I wish I did, and if I did, you can bet there'd be way more gay-puppet stuff going on than they put in the show!)

Chapter 5

It was early. Too early. Too early for anyone to be getting up and getting ready for work. Since when had morning started this early? The sun wasn't even awake! But Nicky grudgingly awoke, rolling out of bed quietly. He made a specific point not to pay any attention to the couple in the bed next to his. Ricky always would sleep with an arm draped over Rod and Rod would have his arms drawn up tight against his own chest. Innocent as it was, it caused bile to rise in Nicky's throat. It was a problem that had slowly gotten to this stage. Ulcers? Acid reflux? What ever it was, the best preventative measure was simply not to look. He dragged himself to the shower instead.

The coffee pot gurgled and spat as Nicky stood next to the computer desk, looking out the living room windows. The fair complexion of the sky looked bruised as it lightened. He'd make the coffee, but he'd forgo the paper. He didn't even wait to have his own cup before leaving quietly for work.

Two weeks. He'd been working a full-time schedule, early mornings Thursdays through Mondays, 5:00a.m. to 2:00p.m. It was actually the busiest shift. People would stop in for a paper or magazine and some coffee before work or after dropping the kids at school. Then it was mostly quiet and Nicky had little to do but drum his fingers on the wooden counter and stare at the spines of books.

Ricky stretched out, arching like a cat and almost forcing his lover off the bed. Rod awoke with a start, catching himself on the edge. He tried to right himself on the mattress, but he hadn't enough room. He hit the floor with a surprisingly loud thud, taking a pillow and the sheet with him. He stood from his tangled heap, hands on hips, ready to fuss, but his attention was pulled by a noticeable absence.

"Where's Nicky?"

Ricky murmured slightly as if answering without words. He rolled onto his back, letting his right arm flop over his face, mostly covering his eyes. He peered from shadow groggily and smiled. Rod continued to stand in his same posture, but his face had softened to a barely perceptible frown. Unaffected, Ricky reached out and grabbed the grousing banker, drawing him back in. Rod weakly fought against the pull.

"Mmm, come back to bed." Ricky's morning voice was low and rumbling and very inviting. Shirtless, the remaining blanket did little to conceal the lazily flexing muscles as he tugged playfully at Rod's arm. Reluctantly, he agreed and sat down, at least. Ricky slid behind him, wrapping his broad arms around his boyfriend's waist and squeezed, nuzzling against Rod's back. The conservative red-head sighed, unsure what he wanted to do. Would it be like cheating on Nicky?

Wait! What? Rod rubbed his eyes, frustrated at his own mind. Nicky was the one he wanted, Ricky was the one he had. And Ricky was a veritable Adonis, and he was here with him and wanted him and cared for him. He lay back down, allowing his partner to spoon with him. Ricky nuzzled against his neck and hair. Physically, it felt really nice, but Rod continued his distant stare and his frown. It had to be a case of the-grass-is-always-greener.

Tiny pecks, little kisses amidst the cuddling. "How 'bout a little good-morning?" Ricky asked.

Rod smiled and muttered a, "Good morning."

"How about we make it a good morning?" Ricky suggested, raising himself up to peek over at Rod's face. He laughed at the shocked expression he found there.

"Ricky!" Rod gasped, "Nicky could come in at any moment!"

"He's not coming back any time soon."

"How do you know? He could be in the living room for all we know, or stepped out to the post office before noon!" Rod started to get nervous as Ricky pawed at him and kissed him more urgently.

"He's not coming back any time soon. He'll be gone for hours. Let's take advantage of this rare opportunity. We don't ever get any alone time anymore." Ricky finished his statement by capturing the other's ear in his mouth delicately. Rod gasped and blushed but didn't give in. His anxiety was keeping his passions in check.

"What do you mean, he'll be gone for hours? Where did he go? Where does he always go so early?"

Ricky wouldn't be thwarted and kept at his seemingly fruitless assault. "It doesn't matter. He just goes out. Let's stop talking about Nicky." Rod conceded for a bit, turning his head and kissing back, but his thoughts kept tugging him away until he finally sat up entirely.

"Well if you know he's just out, you have to know where and why."

Ricky sat up too, starting to feel aggravated. "Yeah, I know where he is. He asked me not to say anything. Can we please forget about him?" Rod started to open his mouth but Ricky knew where it was going and cut him off. "Okay wait. If you don't want to have sex because you're not in the mood, that's fine. I can accept that. But if you don't want to because you've got your roommate on the brain, you could probably understand that I'd be a little pissed off." And with that, Ricky threw the covers off himself and stocked from the room, leaving Rod feeling conflicted and guilty.

The muscle-bound man was still shirtless, wearing only a pair of boxers as he dropped heavily onto the sofa. A red shirt draped over the armrest caught his attention and he started to pull it on. He looked down at the garment, realizing to whom it belonged. "Nicky's." He fumed, throwing the offending shirt from his body and mussing his hair in a frantic and futile display of frustration. "That son of a bitch!" It had been building the past several weeks. It had been slow at first and he wasn't even sure what it was. Maybe he was making a mountain out of a mole hill, maybe he was being paranoid, but he was finding it harder and harder not to feel like a third wheel.

As Ricky sat there, slumping back into the couch cushions and staring at the blank screen of the television set, he started to feel quite like he was on the outside looking in; like the space in Rod's life that he had fit into before was squeezing closed and forcing him out again. His flared anger had quickly subsided into a dull, uncomfortable feeling. He couldn't blame anyone involved. Who has control over their heart anyway? He picked up a throw-pillow and held it comfortingly over his face and groaned into it. God, why couldn't love be simpler?

Nicky rested his head boredly on his crossed arms on the counter. His face was mushed up against his sleeves and he tried to roll his eyes toward the clock without moving. Straining enough, he managed to make out the time. He puffed out a defeated sigh and muttered, "Four more hours of this?"

The store owner was sitting comfortably in one of the high-back green chairs reading a book. His name was Mr. Whitaker. Sean Whitaker. Nicky tried to call him Brushy in the beginning because of the thick, neat mustache, but the nick-name didn't stick. If he was simply a man Nicky saw now and then, it might have, but Sean was as regular a guy as they come and very personable. He seemed like a Sean.

Impeccable posture but eyes ummovingly set to the pages of his novel, he spoke up. "Bored?"

"Very." Nicky replied, lolling his head down to put his forehead against the counter.

"You could read a book. You work in a book store. You have an endless supply of entertainment at your very fingertips and hours at your disposal to enjoy it."

Nicky scoffed but stepped from behind the counter and began perusing the shelves. Hands clasped behind his back, he slowly side-stepped down the rows, examining the genres and titles. He didn't feel like he had the mental energy to dive into an exciting fiction novel. He'd end up getting hooked and want to finish it and that would end up being a lot of reading for what would likely end up being a disappointment. Maybe a How-To book or a videogame guide book.

A Girlfriend's Guide to Babies. Nicky chuckled, imagining himself picking up a book like that. But to be fair, the various lacey patterns and pearl tones of that section, so different from the other books, did really draw his attention. How to Make a Relationship Work. Nicky looked back and forth suspiciously before picking it up. He flipped the pages. Plenty of pictures, little comic-strips in simple styles. Looked like an easy enough read.

Fueled by curiosity and boredom, he picked out the book and plodded back to his post. Silent minutes ticked passed. Nicky was now fully engrossed in his read, continuously seeing himself in the examples.

"Found something good?" Mr. Whitaker asked, suddenly and inexplicably standing near by. Startled, Nicky reflexively slapped a hand over the page.

"Ah, you know… just picked up the first thing I came across… just something to pass the time."

Sean knew better. He'd only been book-searching for a half an hour! He teasingly tried to see the pages Nicky was so adamantly attempting to hide. "Relationships, eh?" Sean smiled the way he always did, tucking his chin down, the creased ends of his smile peaking barely beyond his mustache. "You should have asked me!" He jabbed himself with his thumb proudly. "I've been married 25 years."

"Sean," Nicky rolled his eyes with a smile, "you're a borderline alcoholic and you're married to a fat, ugly bitch."

"Hey," Mr. Whitaker protested, "I'm not a borderline alcoholic." They shared a laugh for a moment. "But seriously, Nicky…"

"Hey, hey, she hates me and you know it."

"Only because you called her that!"

Nicky shrugged exaggeratedly, "I didn't know she was your wife! I thought she was a customer!" The store owner gave Nicky a mildly disapproving eye before moving the conversation forward.

"Anyway, I have a decent enough marriage. I could give you pointers on keeping your little lady happy." Sean put an arm around Nicky who cringed slightly.

"I'm not actually in a relationship. Well, not actually actually. I mean, I'm not at all but we're friends… I don't even know why I'm saying this at all since there's no chance… not saying chance as in I want there to be a chance. I don't." He stopped blabbering to look at the other man whose eyes were twinkling amusedly. "Oh Sean, please don't be that kind of person," Nicky sighed.

"What kind of person?"

"You know," Nicky elaborated, "like if this was a movie, the guy who the main character hasn't known very long offers some sage advice or offers some insight and then suddenly it's very clear. It's so cliché, I really don't need that."

Mr. Whitaker laughed, throwing his head back and clutching his stomach, his short, blonde hair unmade itself so that when the fit of hearty chuckles subsided, it was hanging down in his face. He brushed it back with one hand, wiping tears with the other. "Nicky," He slapped a hand on Nicky's shoulder again, almost supporting himself, "I'm not the type, trust me," he started giggling again, "and your not interesting enough to be the main character of anything."

Rod was exhausted. The mid afternoon saw him sitting to rest for the first time all day. The apartment was impeccably clean and organized. Not that it had been overly messy before, but it was especially clean now.

Ricky had gone to the store for milk, but in all honesty, he had just felt like getting out of the apartment for a while. It was as good an excuse as any.

The worn door, coated with layers of old, off-white paint, rattled loosely as Nicky entered. "Hey Rod!"

"Hi Nicky." Rod grumbled back. Almost remembering himself, he stood, immediately going into a mini tirade. "So, do you have something you want to tell me?" Nicky stopped, looking wide-eyed at his roommate, at first feeling the clammy shock of nervousness, the thought _what did I do?_ pervasive in his mind.

"Ricky said he knows. He also told me you told him not to tell." Rod clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

Nicky's gaping expression darkened. It's not that Nicky particularly minded Rod knowing he had a job. In fact, he thought Rod would be happy with him. But he hadn't wanted to tell him too early in case he got fired or quit. It would be more of a disappointment and he was enough of a disappointment as it was, he was sure. What bothered him was that Ricky broke the confidence they had between each other.

"Our firm is right in the middle of its annual audit. I'm stressed and tired, and I don't need worry to add on top of that." The investment banker nagged but the words didn't sink in. It wasn't what Rod was saying, but how he was saying it. Another argument. Nothing new, but this one was Ricky's fault. Rod continued, something about keeping secrets, and losing hair, and having the decency to let the members of this household know this or that. But at that moment, Ricky walked in the door. A white plastic back hung from his fingers, weighted down by a condensation-covered half-gallon of milk. Seeing what he stepped into the middle of, he tried to walk around it, as if the argument had some kind of visible perimeter he was skirting. But it was too late.

"Yeah, well, Ricky still smokes. How's that for secrets?" Nicky spilled and the room went quiet. Not even the sharp crinkling of the grocery sack sounded in the heavy atmosphere of the suddenly crowded den.

Naturally, Rod was the first to speak. "I'm going insane! Ricky's smoking behind my back and lying to my face, and Nicky's out gallivanting to God-knows-where every day, and nobody tells me anything! It's nothing but tension in this apartment all the time!" Ricky started to open his mouth but a hateful glare from his boyfriend shut him up fast. "Ricky, you don't have any room to speak. How dare you try to make me feel guilty for something you don't know anything about, while you knowingly deceive me? It's not the smoking, Ricky, it's the lying." Rod pointed an accusing finger toward his partner. The large man shrank back, seemingly smaller under the petite ginger's fiery gaze.

"You can fight each other over the couch for all I care." With a last sweeping look back and forth between the two cowering look-alikes, he spun on his heels and stormed into his room, slamming and locking the door behind him.

The air seemed less heavy, but when Nicky chanced his attention back on his counterpart, the weight seemed to return. Ricky's eyes squinted, his brow set hard and his jaw firmly locked in a solid frown. He stepped slowly, deliberately closer, like a wounded monster lumbering toward the poor soul foolish enough to strike a blow against him. Ricky lifted his hand, arm poised in a right angle close to his body. The tendons in his arm tensed and he pointed his finger Nicky's way. It looked as if that finger was on rubber-bands, and Ricky was trying with all his might not to form a fist. He jabbed the finger into the air, accentuating the point he was about to make.

"Nicky, you suck." And with that he stomped to put the milk away and then to the sofa, claiming the spot as his. Nicky wouldn't be silly enough to attempt to contend for it. Ricky pulled the throw-pillow over his head, hiding it, trying to cool off. Muffled, he added after a long while, "Oh, and Nicky," he removed the pillow from his face to continue, "I never told Rod about your job. Unless you told him, he still doesn't know."

That was the blade in his soul. If Nicky hadn't felt bad before, he certainly did now. Hell hath no fury like a gay man scorned, and he had effectively brought that wrath down upon the head of someone he had considered a friend.

Sluggishly, he pulled Rod's chair to the other side of the room where he could sleep off of the floor, but away from Ricky. Uncomfortable and cold, neither dared knock on the door to ask Rod for their blankets or pillows.


	6. Chapter 6

Love Without Labels:

An Avenue Q Fanfiction

(Rod/Nicky) 3

(I don't own any Avenue Q anything… but I wish I did, and if I did, you can bet there'd be way more gay-puppet stuff going on than they put in the show!)

Chapter 6

Sunday morning, Rod awoke to an empty room. He didn't bother to look at the time. He had slept late but still didn't feel the drive to get up. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, clutching his blankets up under his chin. He could tell by the pattern of light on the wall beside his dresser mirror that the day was nearing the noon hour. He was certain the rest of the apartment was as empty as his room. Nicky was probably off somewhere like most mornings. He likely had a girlfriend somewhere…. Or maybe he'd joined some sports team or a gym and was taking yoga classes! Nah. It was probably the girlfriend hypothesis. And Ricky, well, Ricky worked retail at a sporting goods store in the city and his schedule had him working all over the clock from one day to the next. Or maybe he had just gone out. But regardless, there were no noises. No tv. No clattering. The apartment was empty and Rod was trying to decide whether he liked that or not.

He had overreacted.

He had gotten angry because he felt like getting angry. So what if Ricky still smoked? It wasn't affecting him. So what if Nicky ran off every morning? It's his life. Since when was it the law of the land that Rod had to be in control of the lives of everyone around him? Maybe he should just lighten up.

Well, that was the short and long of it. Lighten up. Life had been going so smoothly the past several months. Why did it suddenly start slipping out from under him, tumbling away into a steep decline? His foundation had shifted. He had gone from comfortable terrain to walking the insubstantial, tenuous sands of desolate dunes – lonely, pulling people close one moment and pushing them away the next, until those people cut their tethers and drifted away for good.

He had to make a decision. He had to choose, Richard or Nicholas. And once that decision was made, he had to stick to it, for better or worse, and never look back.

His heart hurt. His head hurt. He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

The days that passed were tense and quiet. There was a pregnant silence surrounding the three men who went about their daily activities as normal, without a word to each other at all. Everyone wanted someone to say something. Everyone had something to lay on the table. But nobody dared. Each one felt wronged, each one felt guilty, so each one maintained the saturnine air.

That Thursday Nicky came home after a surprisingly busy day shift. He didn't mind the rush because it kept his mind occupied. But he was drained and wanted nothing more than the soft yet springy old mattress on his bed. Opening the door, he saw Ricky sitting on the floor, facing the wall. Sheets of newspaper were laid out almost like a second carpeting. A fine white dust curled into the air around him. The sound of the door caused Ricky to start, turning suddenly with surprise. Only Nicky. Phew.

"What are you doing?" Nicky asked, closing the door behind him when Ricky motioned for him to do so with a gesturing finger. Ricky turned back to the wall and put his head down. His shoulders slumped and what ever he was holding dropped into his lap.

"I, uh" He started, obviously not proud of what ever it was. "I threw something." He could feel Nicky's question and so continued. "I threw your Nintendo against the wall. I broke it to pieces."

Nicky didn't say anything but Ricky was fairly certain it wasn't because he wasn't upset. He was probably just too shocked to think of anything to say.

"I went out and bought you another one, though. Excite Bike also got busted but I couldn't find another one of them, so I got you Donkey Kong and Pac Man to make up for it."

"Thanks."

Ricky turned his head, looking over his shoulder he offered a weak but genuine smile and nodded, appreciating his roommates civility over the whole thing.

"But what are you doing now?" Nicky asked, stepping on the crinkling newspapers to sit on the floor beside the other.

"I knocked a hole in the wall. I took a chunk of it to the hardware store and had them match up the color. I plastered the hole up. I'm just sanding it down now. I'm going to have to paint the whole wall. I don't want Rod to find out. He looked to Nicky with a silent pleading look in his eyes. "He's been kind of stressed and kind of not himself lately. I don't want to stress him out more. I don't want him to know I lost my cool so bad. He's a sensitive kind of a guy.

Nicky nodded a slow agreement. "Yeah. He is. But deep down, he's also a really compassionate and understanding kind of a guy." The two looked at each other for a wordless moment before Nicky spoke up softly, "I'll help you finish this up before Rod gets home." Ricky smiled.

In almost no time, Ricky had finished sanding down the plaster and Nicky had lined the baseboard and ceiling with masking tape. The rollers were soaked in a dark grayish blue and the two made short work coating the wall.

One wall and one friendship repaired in a single afternoon. A job well done indeed. Ricky proceeded to pick up the newspaper and strip off the masking tape while Nicky opened the windows to air out the paint smell.

But even with camaraderie fresh in their hearts, Ricky still had a doubt lurking deep within himself and he had to know.

"Hey, Nick," Ricky walked up, looking over the cover of a TV Guide. "Do you think this guy's hot?" He turned the cover toward Nicky, showing a dark haired man with dark eyes from a popular prime-time detective drama. Nicky curled his lip and sneered.

"No. I know the homosexual community is the poorer for it, but as I've said, I'm not gay." Nicky answered light-heartedly.

"I understand, but you can appreciate the attractive qualities of a person of either gender, regardless of your orientation."

"I guess." Nicky agreed, less than convinced. The two walked together the short distance and sat side-by-side on the couch. Ricky continued.

"So, on the subject of orientation, do you think a gay guy can fall in love with a straight guy?" Ricky pulled one leg up onto the sofa, pulling it under himself while the other rested firmly on the floor. He turned his shoulders, squaring himself up with Nicky, engaging him inescapably in the conversation.

"Yeah. I mean, why not. Gay guys are attracted to guys. The sexual preference of the other one doesn't play a part. A person doesn't fall in love with a person's gayness or straightness. They fall for the person."

Ricky nodded, taking in the answer to the subtly leading question before adding another.

"So do you think a straight guy could fall in love with a gay guy?"

Nicky shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking around for some excuse to leave but found nothing. He cleared his throat. "No. A straight guy can't fall in love with a gay guy. A straight guy is not attracted to men. So no matter how hot the guy is, a straight guy couldn't fall for him."

"What about personality? What about all that stuff that goes beyond skin-deep." Ricky argued.

"Gender goes beyond skin-deep, man."

"What about taking care of a person? What about tolerating their stupid asses? What about always being there whether you deserve the attention or not?" Ricky's voice started raising tempo and volume. He preached with a building fervor that had Nicky cowing back.

Nicky raised his hands defensively, "Hey, buddy, I'm not trying to steal Rod away from you, if that's what you're getting at!"

"So you're telling me you don't feel like I stole him away from you first?" Ricky urged an answer vehemently as he got in Nicky's face, almost nose to nose.

"I'M TELLING YOU I'M NOT GAY!" Nicky finally shouted.

"And I'm telling you it's not about labels! Gay, straight, bi, they don't mean jack-shit! When it comes down to it, there are people and there are actions! And if you're fucking in love with Rod then be a fucking man and tell him instead of being a pussy and trying to surreptitiously sabotage our relationship! Fuck, Nicky! You're so stupid!" Ricky trembled as he stood, moving with purpose to the door on unsure feet. "Because he doesn't love me, ya know." His hand gripped the door knob. He had to get out for a while, but he paused, composing himself.

"Ricky." Nicky spoke up suddenly. He turned his gaze toward the man at the door, even though Ricky looked like he didn't want to be seen right then. "What do you mean?"

"I'd say, you're smart enough. Figure it out yourself. But you've made it abundantly clear you're not. So I'll drop you some hints. When you pay even the most remote amount of attention to him, he forgets all about me. And when you ignore him, he's sick with worry over it, and I may as well not even exist." He turned the knob and stepped over the threshold. "Thanks for helping me with the wall." He closed the door behind him and was gone.

Nicky stared straight ahead. Rod would be home from work any moment. He had never felt such a strange mix of eagerness and dread.

The moment Rod came home he turned his nose to the air, sniffing the peculiar aroma. It was a familiar kind of smell. Paint? He looked around but saw nothing suspicious so he let it go. Nicky sat trance-like on the couch. He was playing a game. The up and down melody of chomping power pellets and the swirling tune of chasing frightened ghosts brought a subtle nostalgic feeling over him. But even the soothing, yet repetitive sound of the popular old-school Nintendo classic wasn't enough to shake Rod out of his uncomfortable slump. He went to hang his suit jacket and pants and change clothes without a word.

Nicky quietly watched him walk by and back again. He eyed him as he went into the kitchen, wordlessly going about doing the dishes and digging through the refrigerator for supper. He was wearing jeans, a teeshirt, and socks. His thin waist contrasted his broad yet thin shoulders. He wasn't feminine. He wasn't beautiful. He was manly in appearance, even though he had the personality of a clucking mother hen and carried himself like a young woman. Nicky scrutinized the man and determined that yes, regardless of the fact that he, himself, was male, he could readily see Rod was an attractive person.

Hair the color of rich, fresh rust and sharp, high cheek bones, and a strong jaw, and narrow hips. He could almost see himself coming in behind him the way he'd seen Ricky do a hundred times and slip his own hands upon those hips and brush a cheek against the smooth skin of Rod's face. The thoughts caused him to blush and look away. What could he do now? Was this an extension of the continuous line of thought that he always seemed to have or was it a new thread brought on by the heated exchange between himself and Ricky less than an hour before.

As he stared at the red-head bustling about in the kitchen, Rod turned his attention back toward him. Being spotted, Nicky jumped slightly, darting his focus back toward the game which had reset itself, having killed off every Pac Man he had in reserve without even a fight. He sheepishly flicked his eyes back toward Rod who offered a nervous smile, finally feeling like breaking the tense several-day-long reticence.

"Chicken tacos." He stated, holding up a box of taco shells.

Nicky smiled back. "My favorite."


	7. Chapter 7

Love Without Labels:

An Avenue Q Fanfiction

(Rod/Nicky) 3

(I don't own any Avenue Q anything… but I wish I did, and if I did, you can bet there'd be way more gay-puppet stuff going on than they put in the show!)

Chapter 7

The conversation was light, almost like old times. Inwardly, Nicky was elated. He bit into a flour tortilla, spicy chicken messily dropping out the other side. He stopped mid-bite, realizing what he was doing and feeling a little self-conscious over it. He put his food down and wiped his mouth and hands before continuing his meal with a fork. It wasn't really a Nicky kind of thing to do, but for some reason, he felt like making a good impression.

He ate quietly, nodding and listening to Rod talk about this and that. It had been a long few days they had spent not speaking. Rod talked about the audit and how thankful he was it was over for the year. He talked about his job, his coworkers, his ride home today as opposed to the other days. Normal things. Everyday things. But Nicky felt himself wanting to talk about other kinds of things. He was feeling the impulse to blurt out phrases that would seem very out of place between the two of them. Responses like, "_Well, I think you look nice today,_" or "_Your coworkers are very lucky to have you,_" fizzled out on his tongue. Casual, yet suggestible. No. He wouldn't say them. But they were a far cry better than some of his other thoughts he kept in the back of his mind like, "_How about after dinner we watch a movie together,_" or worse, "_Lick you lips like that again._"

He was going crazy. He was sitting here eating dinner with Rod, his best friend for right around a decade, and suddenly he felt like he was on a first date. Thank goodness Rod didn't seem to notice. Damn Ricky for putting thoughts in his head!

Rod took a sip of iced tea, pushing his plate away from him after he finished. It felt so good to just blabber on after days of uncomfortable tension. But it was a temporary respite at best. For nearly a week Rod had been contemplating some very heavy stuff. He was afraid of the choice he would have to make… had made. He needed to talk to both. His decision would affect everyone.

"Where's Ricky?" Rod asked, giving away nothing in his tone.

Nicky wiped his mouth again and pushed his cleared plate back from him as Rod had done. "I don't know. He stepped out. He'll be back sooner or later."

"It's just as well. I," Rod paused a moment, "have something to talk to you about." Nervousness was clamping in on him but he maintained an indifferent façade. He stood, clearing the table before returning to his seat. He clasped his fingers together, using them as a surface to rest his chin as he leaned informally forward.

Shiftless but adorable, Rod's heart couldn't help but swell when he gazed at that sweet lummox. He smiled with a genuine compassion and took a deep breath.

"Hey," Ricky spoke quietly, peeking his head in the door. Rod stood next to the computer desk, staring out the window toward the sky, his forehead resting against the glass.

"Hi." Rod answered back in the same soft tone.

"Sorry I'm coming in so late. You didn't have to wait up. I guess Nick's asleep already." Ricky said, kicking his shoes off by the door and shuffling tiredly toward Rod but he stopped, standing behind the couch which marked about the half-way point in the living room from all four directions. Rod didn't say anything. He looked toward the sky a moment more, arms crossed at his chest. He took a deep breath and turned slowly to face his boyfriend who still remained standing sheepishly in the middle of the room. Rod stepped forward, clearing the desk to stand near the bedroom door. He leaned back against the wall, his arms still crossed, and looked up, then back toward the other wall, and back again – anywhere but Ricky. He sighed and cleared his throat.

"I needed to talk with you about something." Rod hated starting the conversation like that. They hadn't spoken in days, and then the first words to be a sentence like that, it didn't sit well with him, but it was late and he was tired and he wanted to get on with it.

"Okay." Ricky sounded only slightly unsure of himself, but his posture was returning to his normal, upright, confident stance. He crossed his own arms as well. The living room light was off so the only illumination came from the open-wall kitchen. The light was soft, washing both men in a cool gray. The dimness seemed to make everything feel like it should remain quiet, so every sentence spoken between the two felt like an interruption.

Rod didn't know how to start. He didn't know what he should say first. There seemed like so many things to say until he was standing here ready to say them. Well, like a cold swimming pool, maybe it was best to just come right out and say it.

"Nicky's gone." The words almost didn't come out, but he fought back any emotion that was attached to them and continued. Ricky's arms dropped to the side, his expression softened to one of empathy. "I've been thinking a lot about what you said last week, and you're right." Rod continued. "I've also been thinking about my distant demeanor. It wasn't fair of me to push you away for no reason and it was perfectly understandable of you to be upset when I was unduly concerned over Nicky, even when my attention should have been on you."

Ricky walked toward his nearly estranged partner, arms raised at the ready as he moved in and gently slid his hands on either side of Rod's face. He stood there looking intently into the other man's eyes. The warm, light brown cooled in the low light but they sparkled wetly. Rod had made the wrong decision, Ricky knew. But even so, he kissed him. He could hardly help himself. Ricky held his lover close, face still cupped in his hands, and he kissed him to show how much he had yearned for him.

Tears flowed down his face, but Rod chose to ignore them. He wrapped his arms around Ricky's shoulders and internally scolded himself for ever wanting anything else but this. This was real. This was solid and tangible. This was a partnership which fulfilled everything a relationship should.

He could never have this with Nicky. Rod could never tangle his fingers in Nicky's hair as he assaulted his throat with rough, passionate kisses. Nicky would never tear open his shirt and run his mouth up and down Rod's rigid torso. He would never pick him up and toss him on the bed and –

"Ah!" He moaned, shaking himself back into reality when Ricky climbed over him on the soft mattress, resuming work on Rod's bare chest. "Ricky." He said aloud in a breathless pant to remind himself whom he was making love to.

"Rod." Ricky murmured lustily as he closed his mouth over the other's, physically expressing his deep love and attraction, and feeling guilty for it every step of the way.

"_I'll take care of the rent and utilities until you get a job_," Rod had said at the dinner table. Nicky stretched out on the couch in Mr. Whitaker's modest apartment and replayed the conversation back in his head over and over. He stared at the rough texture of the ceiling, perfectly wide awake.

"_I have a job. I've had one for three weeks. I just got my first paycheck today._"

"Would it have made any difference if you knew?" Nicky whispered his prior question aloud to no one. Rod had looked at him almost sadly when Nicky had asked that. He had been silent for a long while before he sighed and responded that no, in the end, it had to be like this.

Nicky turned over, facing out and tucking his right arm under his head and biting the nail of his left thumb. When Rod had kicked him out last year, he felt bad, but not like this. Before, he felt remorse for driving Rod to it. This time he felt bad because he felt like he missed an opportunity. The fear of losing Rod to someone had always been present, but so tiny and easy to ignore. When he introduced Rod to Ricky, the fear grew but it stayed in the back of his mind. He had a "that'll never happen to me" mentality.

Then again, this was different all together. He wasn't just scared of losing his best friend. He wasn't simply worried that Rod would slip out of his life forever. He felt sick to his stomach. It was grief. It was remorse. He had squandered 10 years. He didn't know when it started exactly. He wasn't sure for how long, but it suddenly became so apparent to him. "I want him to be mine," he uttered from behind his thumb. But it was too late. Ricky had told him as much. He should have been bolder. He shouldn't have worried about labels and fitting himself so neatly in the category assigned to him with no room to waiver. So maybe Rod would have turned him down. Maybe it would have been a fruitless effort and he'd have been kicked out years ago. But at least he wouldn't have felt the regret of never having tried. And now here he was, sleeping in his boss' living room and contemplating his future. The typically upbeat Nicky now saw nothing but bleak.

Rod's chest rose and fell in the even rhythm of slumber. Ricky lay beside him, listening to the hypnotic sound of his breathing. His eyes gazed unfocused at the ceiling above him before he turned on his side to look over the peaceful body beside him.

He loved him. He did. And he wanted nothing more than to release the reigns, go with the flow, and let Rod know that he would never have to lament that decision.

He found the awkward investment banker to be so desirable. It wasn't just the fire-cracker red hair or the matching attitude. It was probably more the way he tamed his attitude, like he tamed his hair. It wasn't just the toned physique. It was more the way he kept it hidden, always modestly and impeccably dressed and groomed. It was his quirks. It was his stained-wood colored eyes that couldn't see a thing without his wire-frame glasses. It was his nervous, self-deprecating that secretly loved to look at himself in the mirror. It was his complaining about always having to cook but getting upset when anyone else tried to do it. It was his Pride shirt that he kept in the back of the drawer and never wore but giggled about having it. And it was his tragic inability to successfully tell a joke. But mostly, it was probably the fact that he gave of himself 110% to everyone and it made him happy to do it.

"I love you." He whispered so quietly he barely heard it himself and kissed Rod's cheek tenderly. It felt dreadful to feel wicked over loving someone. He felt like he was being selfish by simply wanting this. It would pass, wouldn't it? Rod would go back to being happy and Nicky would move on and be happy too. Change is always hardest at first. He just had to keep reminding himself of that. Change is hard, even if the change is in your own favor.


	8. Chapter 8

Love Without Labels:

An Avenue Q Fanfiction

(Rod/Nicky) 3

(I don't own any Avenue Q anything… but I wish I did, and if I did, you can bet there'd be way more gay-puppet stuff going on than they put in the show!)

Chapter 8

Nicky dropped his head hard on the wooden counter of the book store. The sound was a sharp, solid thud, loud enough to draw the attention of several customers who peeked their heads quietly from around the corners of bookcases or raising their eyes from their pages where they sat sipping cheap lattes out of Styrofoam cups. Mr. Whitaker didn't turn or look up from his coffee which he drank out of his own stoneware mug.

"I told you, you should have asked me for advice." He said, trying to swipe his bottom lip over his bristly, light-yellow mustache to catch a drip of coffee. Without raising himself, Nicky turned his head over on the counter to give Sean a side-long glance. He opened his mouth to reply, but all that escaped was a heavy sigh. Sean tucked his chin down and smiled. It made him look like a blonde Dick Van Dyke with facial hair. "Oh," he started, still scanning the store floor from over the rim of his cup, "the wife told me if you're going to keep staying on our couch, you're gonna have to start paying part of the rent."

Nicky rolled his head back so that he was forehead down and groaned. "Well, at least she's not kicking me out." Mr. Whitaker smiled again and lifted his mug in agreement.

"So that girl you liked, you were living with her?" Sean sparked back up the conversation after a momentary lull. He spoke into his empty cup, pretending to still drink so he could come across as casual and disinterested.

Nicky waited a while before answering, mulling the wording of the question over in his mind. "Yeah." He answered at last.

"What was her name?" Tired of having to fake a sip, the 44 year old man stepped back behind Nicky to pour himself another cup. His footfalls were clomping, sharp and loud on the wooden floor.

"Rod-nda. Rhonda. I call her Rod. It's a nickname." Nicky answered, catching his response before he embarrassed himself. Saved, whew. Mr. Whitaker seemed unfazed by the awkward wording, taking a tentative drink of his hot coffee. Nicky stood up fully now, screwing his face up in labored thought as he leaned back slightly and jammed his hands down deep in his pockets. "I just don't get it. The whole thing is confusing as hell."

"Well did you do something to get kicked out?"

Nicky thought a moment, "Yeah. Lots of things. We'd been roommates for 10 years."

Sean almost choked on his beverage, spitting a little of it back into his cup and trying to cover a cough. "I was a lazy slob pretty much the whole time. I guess I wasn't that considerate of Rod's feelings, even though I never meant to take them, for granted. This isn't the first time I've been kicked out."

"Find everything okay?" Mr. Whitaker asked a young lady who had stepped up to the register. Nicky moved back a step and leaned against the counter-top behind him, hands still firmly stashed in his pockets. "And 5, 6, 7 dollars and 53 cents. Come again." The blonde man counted out the change and handed the lady a little white receipt, waving a thin hand at her departure. When the tinkling of the door-bell ceased, he whirled on Nicky like a gossip-hungry church-lady. "You lived with this girl for 10 years and never –" he rolled his hand in the air as if he were trying to dig up the next words for his question, "-did anything?" Nicky's struck look encouraged Sean to reword. "Ten years and you never asked her out? What, you only just decided you have feelings for her?"

"It's so much more complicated than that."

"Oh. She was always involved in other relationships." The store-clerk surmised. Nicky waved his hands in front of him in a dismissive fashion.

"No, no. In fact, they only just started a serious relationship maybe about 8 months ago. H-she hasn't dated at all as far as I know before Ricky."

"What about you?"

"I've always been a little unlucky in love, as the saying goes. No. I've never had a long-term relationship, but I guess I did have several short ones."

Sean pinched the ridge between his eyes, creasing his brow. "Okay, so you lived with this girl for 10 years, she was not involved romantically with anyone. You usually weren't either. She finally gets a boyfriend and that's when you fall head-over-heels for her. You and her continue to live together for an additional 8 months while she's dating 'Ricky,' until she asks you to move out." Nicky nodded in agreement with his boss' summation.

Taking note of his mug, Sean carefully pushed it out of the way to give himself room to lean back against the front counter in much the same fashion as Nicky was leaning against the back. "And you pretty much didn't work all that whole time," he added, shaking his head. Nicky swallowed sheepishly. "Sounds to me," he continued, "that this is for the best."

Nicky wasn't sure what kind of a response he was expecting, but he wasn't really expecting that. Mr. Whitaker took a moment to observe his own shirt, smoothing a wrinkle in the front before looking back at his employee casually. "You're not in love with her. You just miss the gravy-train. She was your cash-cow. She was your mother-figure. She took care of you and you could do pretty much what ever you wanted. When Mr. Right came along you started thinking that maybe this free-ride could be snatched away. You didn't fall in love with her. But subconsciously you did want to keep her. But look what it did for you! The prospect of losing your crutch motivated you to get out and get a job! Look at yourself. You're not the best employee in the world, but hell! You've maintained steady employment for over a month! That counts for something. Now if we could motivate you to live on your own, maybe you could start a real life for yourself." He ended his thought by picking up his glossy gray stoneware mug and taking a drink with a noisy, satisfied, "Ahh."

Nicky stood wide-eyed and motionless. His situation was certainly more complicated than that, right? He had spent so much time pondering Ricky's words and examining his own feelings. Could it be that it wasn't really love? That it never had been? Was it true that all he missed was the lack of responsibility and the simple friendship that he and Rod had always shared, just the two of them? If he could just figure out when he first started having feelings for Rod; if he could just picture what it might have been like if what Ricky said was true, and that it really wasn't about labels. Would he have ever caught on? Was it that word, that poisonous word, 'gay,' that had acted like a canyon between them all these years or was Mr. Whitaker right and it was just selfish laziness that kept them tied together and nothing more than that?

"Well, I'm going to shelf some books. Man the cash-register." The thin, blonde man said as he placed his empty cup at the little sink next to Nicky and walked off. Nicky nodded and stood there alone with his thoughts.

For Rod, life had resumed some semblance of normalcy. The hectic, yet monotonous rat-race of life was enough to keep him sane. Buried in the rush of work, the gym, the house-keeping, he had little time to confront his new and different circumstances. Ricky moved up to the more regular hours of full time and between the two of them, they lead the fairly normal, unfulfilling existence of the average couple.

"Hey, Rod," Ricky began one evening as they lounged together on the sofa.

"Ricky, please. I'm trying to watch Glee." Rod cut him off with a shushing finger which slowly changed directions to point at the television.

"Okay, I'll wait for a commercial," he said, turning his attention back to the pamphlet in his hands.

"Can you believe anyone would want to buy that?" Rod asked a couple of minutes later. "Orange flavored toothpaste does _not_ sound good at all. Yuck." Rod picked up the remote and set the television to mute. "You have approximately 2 minutes." He smiled.

"I was thinking of getting my certification to be a physical trainer. What do you think?"

"Wow," said Rod, "that's a big career change."

"It's not that big of a change. I mean, I suppose it is but I work in an athletic store and I'm a regular at the gym. I've always been interested in it. I'd be going from fitness retail to fitness training."

"What all is involved?" Rod asked.

"Well, I'd have to get my CPR certificate renewed, get an AED certificate, apparently, and take an exam." Ricky handed over the pamphlet.

"Well that doesn't seem like that much. How much would it all cost?" The red-head took the folded rectangle of card-stock and opened it, reading over the meager details written by a seemingly excited individual. Colored photos of men and women in skin-tight poly-cotton blends of bright hues smiled, frozen mid jog or stretch.

"I don't know about the cost yet. I only just started looking into it today. But I'm going to find out as much as I can before jumping into anything." Ricky took the brochure when Rod handed it back to him.

"Ooh, just think. My boyfriend, the physical fitness trainer." Rod batted his eyes and laughed.

"That's something else I wanted to talk to you about. I mean, it's just a thought, but, you know we've been seeing each other for a while now. We're living together, just the two of us. We're pretty happy together, right?"

Rod nodded skeptically.

"Not that there's much we could do about it officially, but, I'd like to be more than just your boyfriend. Maybe you could think of me as…" Ricky paused, afraid of saying the words but feeling that he should, "your life-partner?"

Rod opened his mouth as if to speak but nothing came out for a long while. His facial expression seemed to show a fighting will to respond but either he couldn't think of anything to say, or he was anxious about saying it. "Oh, Glee's back on. Let's talk about this after the show," Rod finally responded with hurried words and actions to turn the mute off and click the volume up a few bars.

"Okay." Ricky replied, trying not to let it get to him and he went back to reading his pamphlet.

Rod couldn't concentrate on the rest of the program. The singing and dancing and teen angst dulled in the background. He stared at the screen but none of it registered. He was zoned out entirely on Ricky's words. What a heavy request to ask of him. Life partner? Well, what did all that even mean, anyway? Life partner. Just words. No more solid or binding than boyfriend. So would saying those words make any real difference in their lives?

Damn it. Damn it! Why did something so incredibly simple have to be so incredibly difficult? He needed to say okay to it. He needed to easily and happily agree. What would it hurt, anyway? But the truth was, even after the couple of weeks they had shared together alone, and even after the months they had dated in total, living together and being completely enmeshed in one another's lives, and even as much as Rod certainly did care about Ricky, he still felt a distance between them. Perhaps he put the distance there himself.

Yes. That's certainly the way it was. Rod formed emotional chasms of polite detachment and Ricky tried desperately to bridge them. What was so important that made him try so hard? If it wasn't for Ricky's singular effort their relationship might have crumbled long ago. It made him wonder.

His interior debate was interrupted by a hand on his, still gripping the remote. Ricky slid his fingers down to press the "off" button, cutting off the scrolling credits along with a news update on the screen.

"Don't freak out about this." Ricky said softly, kissing his lover on the cheek.

Rod looked over almost sadly. "Ricky, I – I haven't exactly been on the dating-scene for very long. I mean, I've had a few flings here and there, but I've never had a boyfriend. I don't know what to expect. We haven't even been together a year yet."

"Are you worried it's progressing too fast?" Ricky's tone was exceptionally casual and conversational as if they weren't talking about something as deeply emotional as they were.

Rod looked up and shook his head slowly, not in a response so much as in utter indecision. "Maybe. I don't know. I just," he paused, gaining a little clarity. He turned to look his boyfriend straight on. "I've already had to make a very big and difficult decision recently. I'd like to not have to make another big, difficult decision for a while."

"Nicky?"

"What about him?"

"Nicky was your big, difficult decision, I mean?"

Rod put his head down slightly, facing squarely forward, his shoulders rigid. "Yes." The air hung heavy around them for a second. The ambient sounds of the ceiling fan whirring and the walls settling were emphasized in the otherwise quiet space. Ricky took in a deep, slow, heavy breath.

"Ten years is a long time to love someone who isn't returning your feelings."

"Ricky! How could you think that?" Rod fumed.

"Don't get upset. I'm not holding it against you. I already know." The dark-haired man held up his hands and tried to calm his riling boyfriend. Rod took a moment to look away in disbelief, feeling suddenly vulnerable and exposed. Ricky automatically felt guilty for bringing it up. He knew Rod felt safer in his denial. "Hey. Don't worry about it." Ricky smiled comfortingly, putting an arm around Rod's shoulder and squeezing it in a gentle hug. "Let's forget the whole commitment conversation. It's too soon anyway." He planted kiss atop the banker's blazing red hair. "I'm going to get ready for bed and you should too. We've got work in the morning." Ricky stood from the sofa and made his way into the bathroom to brush his teeth. With the door open he watched out of his peripheral as Rod stood as well and walked to the kitchen. Once his partner was out of sight he focused on his reflection in the mirror. He brushed in little circles in one single spot for a very long while.

It was becoming more and more clear. He was in a one-sided relationship. Ricky wanted to be upset with Rod. He wanted to blame him for his lock-and-key love that he reserved for someone else. He wanted to be mad at Rod for giving his heart to someone who wasn't brave enough to love him back. Why did he stay? Why had he tried so hard? With a quick swipe over the rest of his teeth he spat into the sink and forewent the floss. He stood there at the sink, looking down at the faux marble basin and mused to himself. It had to be commiseration.

It had started out the way most relationships start out. Companionship, someone to have fun with. You learn about your partner's quirks, their strengths and weaknesses and you gain respect for the person and appreciate them more and more. So maybe Ricky tried so hard because he saw Rod's emotional weakness, his insecurity and uncertainty. Maybe he had wanted to try to bring Rod out of all of that.

Ricky hadn't fully realized the extent of Rod's attachment for his roommate until rather recently. Now it was obvious that Rod could never have a satisfying, normal relationship until one of two things happened. Either Nicky had to reciprocate Rod's feelings, or Nicky would have to come right out and tell him in no uncertain terms that he was uninterested. And that neither could happen until Rod came up with the courage to confess.

So this is how it had to be. Ricky made a determined face at himself in the mirror before adjourning to their room. As of now, he hardly had Rod at all. Body but not soul.

He was either going to lose Rod entirely, or gain him fully. But one thing was certain. He would have to be the instigator. Things were about to become very uncomfortable for the three of them.


	9. Chapter 9

Love Without Labels:

An Avenue Q Fanfiction

(Rod/Nicky) 3

(I don't own any Avenue Q anything… but I wish I did, and if I did, you can bet there'd be way more gay-puppet stuff going on than they put in the show!)

Chapter 9

Mr. Whitaker didn't look at his watch. The hand ticked onward like a weary, determined soldier, graduating the intangible spectre of time. On and on it clicked a sound so soft, no one but itself could hear it, but it continued unabated, continued – continued – continued – continued; tick, tick, tick, tick

"Where the hell is he?"

The hands met, clicking together in the uppermost position simultaneously as, shall we say, clock-work. Tick!

Dinga-dinga-ding.

A harsh tinkling of bells from the book shop's door caused the store owner to look up. The dark green walls shadowed in contrast to the white light blazing in through the window. Normally it would be picturesque but now it just glared, draining the color from the figure staggering in. Some customers sat near-by reading, looking up covertly at the silently disruptive figure. He took an uneasy step forward, then another. His hair was shaggier than normal, his facial stubble more unkempt. He practically sloshed as he walked.

Nicky stumbled into his boss who caught him by the shoulders, partly supporting him and partly holding him back at a respectable distance. "You're tanked!" the older man exclaimed. Nicky opened his mouth to deny, but the reek of booze caused Sean to wrinkle his nose and turn away. He, himself, was no stranger to the bottle but – "These are working hours, Nick!" The dark-haired slob looked down to his feet. The emotionally numbing effect of the alcohol was temporary at best, and his buzz was abruptly cut short. "Get outta here." Sean spun Nicky back facing the door. His voice had been sympathetic, almost fatherly, but clearly stern and definite. "Take the day. Get yourself cleaned up. Don't come in here like this again. We'll talk about this tonight."

If it had been a slower day, if the shop had been empty, Mr. Whitaker would have poured a cup of coffee, given Nicky a seat, helped him sober up right there. But this was his business, his livelihood. He couldn't afford the disreputable image. He just hoped his sullen friend understood.

Noon. He wouldn't go back to Sean's apartment. Vera always came home for lunch and she was the last person Nicky wanted to see in his present state. She looked for every opportunity to nag at him. It would only be worse if he was slovenly on the sofa. So where to? The park? Nah. It'd be easy enough to blend in with the hobos haunting the place but he'd rather forget his living position and not surround himself with those pathetic enough to remind him of himself. A bar? Sure. A nice dim, sparse bar where he could nurse a beer and disappear for a bit.

"Sorry pal," the third bartender of the afternoon delivered unsympathetically, "by law I can't serve you alcohol if you're already intoxicated." Nicky harrumphed but forewent repeating his argument. By now, curling up on a park bench under a canopy of the Sunday paper didn't sound so bad. He made it as far as the bar's entry-way where he stumbled, his back sliding down the rough brick wall, until he came to rest, a crumpled mess outside the doorway.

Traffic in and out of the bar was light due to the hour. But what hour that was, Nicky had no idea. His life was falling apart around him. He could practically see his memories dropping before him like shattered glass. But each shard reflected Rod's image. Nicky rubbed his eyes so hard it blurred his vision – or maybe it was the tears that started pooling upon his lower lids before cascading over his eyelashes and down his cheeks. Then it came, all of a sudden, heaving, racking sobs. His hunched form crowded his knees and he hugged his legs with one arm and covered his eyes with the other. His dull orange hoodie sleeve became hot and wet but it was good enough a tissue, seeing as he didn't have anything else.

He was a grown man and he couldn't recall crying even once during his entire adult life. To any random passer-by, he would have looked a piteous sight. Probably homeless, some might say. But he didn't actively think on such things. The truth of the matter was, Nicky's newly ignited depression was founded on his should-be-happy errand of earlier that day. He'd been touring apartments for rent. He'd had the notion the night before, got up early and went. He had the money to put down and the means to make the regular payments and then some. He didn't need any stinking gravy-train!

He'd been smiling as he clutched the keys of the last apartment he looked over. He stood alone in the empty living room. The floors were hard-wood and the space echoed with every knocking step he took. A big, wide window, light mint-green walls, a hall skirting a bathroom and a bedroom and the kitchen/dining area on the opposite side. It was all very efficient and it was all very affordable. He pictured where his furniture would go when he got some. He delighted in the notion of saving up for each single piece like some kind of collection. He examined the gas range and oven; he looked in all of the barren cabinets. A dull brown and highly varnished. There was likely a new coat of the glossy, clear shellac after every individual, former resident had moved.

He had tossed the keys up in the air and caught them again. He was proud of himself. He was happy at his initiative and happy with where he was going. But the small apartment began to seem awfully lonely as he stood there in the bright morning light which gushed through the more-than-ample windows. He didn't think of his old apartment. He didn't think of his old life. But he just couldn't get the images out of his mind of Rod, sitting here in this living room, reading a book. He walked back to the kitchen and saw Rod annoyedly clicking the coffee pot button on and off. "We need to get a new one" he imagined him saying. "That's fine," he muttered aloud every so quietly, "I've been squirreling a little savings away for just such an occasion."

He pictured Rod hating the wall color. He pictured them both using their weekend to paint the place. "It's either got to be bold enough to make a statement or neutral enough to go with anything." That's what Rod would have said about the color.

Nicky turned a circle in the middle of the room, giving it another once over, then he checked his watch. 10:00a.m. He had figured once Sean found out about his new apartment, he wouldn't be so mad about Nicky shirking work. But he couldn't do it. It was pointless, wasn't it? A new apartment? A new life? Where was the meaning? He imagined his future and it seemed hopelessly foreshortened.

Love was rotten that way. It comes on so gently you don't even notice. It's like a rose petal or a gentle breath. You're vaguely aware of it and at its continuous presence, it fades into the background. But when something comes in between you and the person you love, well, love kicks back. It grabs you, shakes you, pins you down as if taking is revenge. "Look what you've squandered! Look what you've lost!" love says.

Nicky wanted to sink to the floor. He wanted to lie down, but he thought better of it. He took the keys back to the office. He felt so drained of energy, he didn't feel he had it in him to begin his new life today. He wasn't sure if he'd ever feel up for it. So he had slunk down the street, stopped off at a grocery store and picked up a case of beer. Nothing too hard. Just something to numb him down a little – take the edge off. He polished off 12 cans before he had sloshed his way to work.

After all that, here he was, alone in the doorway to the latest pub to refuse him. It was probably for the best. But right now he didn't really want what was for the best. Or maybe he did. Maybe his former roommate and him together was for the best. Maybe that's what Ricky had been trying to tell him.

"When it comes down to it, there are people and there are actions! And if you're fucking in love with Rod then be a fucking man and tell him… Because he doesn't love me, ya know."

The words haunted him like a grudging spirit and Nicky wiped his arm across his forehead as it that would shoo the thing away. A police officer walked up and tapped Nicky's shoe gently with the tip of his own. "I'm going to have to ask you to move along. No loitering." The trim man in the dark navy uniform stood straight and tall, resting his hands on his bulky belt. The meager pressure of placing his hands there made several hallow leathery sounds which Nicky only barely heard. Without a remark, he stood and nodded to the cop before shuffling away. He had already ruled out going to the park, but he needed a place to sit for a while. A bus-stop came into view. It had a Plexiglas awning and there was only one person sitting on the bench. He took a seat. The bus pulled up and the other bench-occupant boarded. The driver looked to Nicky, silently asking him if he was getting on but Nicky didn't look back. He hung his head down so the bus squeaked its tiny-elephant noise and rolled away.

Had it been minutes or hours by this time? Nicky still refused to check his watch. He wasn't sure he could make heads or tails of it anyway, even if he did look. Nicky tried to keep his mind blank as much as he could. He wanted to think of Rod. He wanted to map out their possible future that just so happened to be with one another. He had pictured them doing the things they always used to do and then he had pictured them doing the things a family might do. The thoughts pleased him. But his happiness kept cutting itself short, committing suicide before his very eyes as his joyful daydreams seemed to point at him accusingly. He gritted his teeth, angry at his subconscious.

"It's not my fault!" he shouted to nobody. "One person's thoughts do not a happy household make!" He held up his finger and closed his eyes as if he were expounding lessons to the lowly from on high. He slumped back again, resting his elbows on his knees, letting his hands hang down limply between his legs. He was beating himself up over losing something he had never had. Maybe that could be his happy thought. The runt of the litter, too measly and pathetic to die off. He'd nurse that notion. He never had it. They never had anything. There was no "they." The only thing he lost was a roommate. He didn't even officially lose a friend. They hadn't talked since he'd moved out, but there was no reason they couldn't in the future. They'd been friends for roughly 10 years! They could still be friends! They _were_ still friends!

Then why did "friends" just not seem like enough?

"Speak of the devil and he shall appear." A familiar voice floated above the crowd after a new bus fwumped open its door. Ricky stepped off easily, just far enough to be out of the throng's way. He put his hands in his pockets and stood in a casual contrapposto, grinning to stretch one side of his mouth up into his rounding cheek. Ricky pretended not to notice the down-and-out appearance of the alcohol-reeking slob tarrying at a bus he likely had to intentions of boarding. Nicky looked up at his neater, better-looking mirror image; the man who used to affectionately refer to him by the nick-name –

"Doppelganger, hi. Long time no see. You're just the person I was hoping to run in to."

Nicky looked to his former roommate's boyfriend and straightened his spine without raising upright.

"Why don't you come to the apartment for dinner tonight? In fact, if you're not busy, you can go with me to pick up my order right now."

Nicky turned his head to the side like a dog, as if he didn't understand. His eyes were wide and vacant but Ricky gave no indication that the bizarre behavior was discomforting in any way. In truth, Ricky actually had expected that if he ever managed to come across Nicky, that he'd find him in just such a way. If he was depressed or disconnected it meant he was hurting. And if he was hurting it meant he missed something. And if he missed Rod, well, maybe something would happen that actually needed to happen.

Nicky stood up, tucking his own hands into his pocket and standing quietly beside his double. His shoulders were slumped and he had the expression of a child who had just been reprimanded in front of a group of peers. Ricky took the change of positions as an affirmation and he set to walking. Nicky followed at his side. Both were quiet. Part of it might have been out of respect for the silence of the other, but mostly, each was lost in his own mind. It was going to be a terribly uncomfortable evening.


	10. Chapter 10

Love Without Labels:

An Avenue Q Fanfiction

(Rod/Nicky) 3

(I don't own any Avenue Q anything… but I wish I did, and if I did, you can bet there'd be way more gay-puppet stuff going on than they put in the show!)

Chapter 9

(Author's note: This is it, the final chapter. Sorry it was so long in coming but I just couldn't get it to flow in my mind until day-before-yesterday and then it all just came together. I hope you like it. I hope it's not disappointing. Some of Nicky's dialogue sounds way more like how I'd talk than how he'd talk, but I was literally falling asleep in my chair as I finished it and now I really don't want to go back and change it. :)

The two walked together in amiable silence, despite the fact that both had ample reason to resent the other. But regardless their pleasant enough countenance, each had his mind occupied on more dismal things.

For Ricky, it was coming down to the wire. He was going to use this chance opportunity to lay it on the line for Nicky. He'd find a way to bring it out of him. He'd prod him into action. All or nothing. How, was another matter. And that is what this walk was providing him; a little time to gather his thoughts. The short walk to the restaurant became Ricky's long walk into his future.

Nicky was unaware of the heavy machinations of his walking-partner's mind. He, himself, was still too burdened by his own self-induced sorrow to notice much of anything. He was in a very bad place, there in his cognition. Caught between a rock and a hard place and another hard place, so it seemed. Out of the jumbled mess of his psyche he seemed to make only a single revelation. He did want his old life. Not just the apartment, not just the friendship. He wanted what made his "old life" _LIFE._ Rod's presence. In any form or fashion, he wanted to be with him. He thought back on his pleasant yet previously confusing dreams of holding his friend, of him kissing him gently. He remembered the feelings of a crush that he shook off, pretended not to have, continued acting callous and, well, normal.

But what if he had a second chance? What if this meeting today could lead to an opportunity? Therein lay the biggest part of his problem. Ricky. Despite what his double had said, Nicky could see that Rod and Ricky cared for each other and got along together like a couple. If Rod were single Nicky could just swoop in and fill the void. But as it was, his hands were tied. This evening at dinner, Ricky would be there so Nicky would have no alone time with Rod. And even if he did, Nicky very much doubted his friend would approve of the shady advances intent on breaking up his happy home. And what would Ricky say? What would Ricky _do?_ Yes, it seemed that tonight would be a casual reunion of friends. A taste of water on the parched tongue of the emotionally thirsty, but nothing to quench the desiccated remains of sad, lonely Nicky.

"Here we are." Ricky broke into Nicky's thoughts. They stood at a quaint delicatessen. "I ordered a roast chicken. You can help me pick out sides."

Almost like two different people, the trip back was filled with pleasant enough idle conversation. Ricky did most of the talking, wanting to save most of Nicky's adventures for the dinner table. Nicky had perked up considerably. His intoxicated buzz was sufficiently worn away and he felt much more like normal. They sat on the bus, arms loaded with large paper bags holding their food, warming their laps and enticing them with rich aromas. The bus stopped less than a block from the apartment and though he hadn't been absent from the place long, Nicky still felt his heart leap at the familiar sight.

Ricky shoved the old green door open leading to the stairs. At the door he supported the sack on his hip like a mother carrying her tot as he fumbled the jiggly doorknob to open. At the sound of the door, Rod called from the kitchen.

"I hope you brought a dessert because I think I burned the bottom of the pudding." But as Rod turned around, holding the pot by the handle in one hand, a wooden spoon gingerly poking the mass in his other, he saw him. The pot handle slipped from his hands, dropping the thing straight onto the floor. The viscous, white pudding base splashed up like a goopy arm before dropping again into the pot, causing a second, smaller splash which cascaded a skirt of dessert over the edges of the pot, forming a splattery ring on the linoleum floor.

"Hiya Rod, buddy." Nicky waved from behind his paper bag. Rod couldn't think of anything to say. He couldn't imagine how he should act. _Nicky, hi. What have you been doing with yourself lately? _It just didn't seem to feel like the right thing to say. But he didn't know how close or how casual he should be! It felt like he'd been gone from him forever. He had been the one who sent him away. Was Nicky resentful? Was he hurt? Was he doing just fine, sloughing if off like nothing?

"Well don't just stand there, everybody. Take a seat and let's eat!" Ricky broke the tension. At that moment Rod realized he had been standing there staring, mouth agape and unmoving. Nicky had maintained a similar posture, stock-still until the blessed interruption. Rod took a seat quickly while Nicky and Ricky sat the bags on the counter, digging out the contents. Nicky was fully prepared to eat directly from the plastic deli tubs but Ricky prompted him to move the contents to the plates first. "Presentation." Ricky had said. The brief time the two twins were dishing the plates Rod simply sat. He was only faintly aware that his muscles were all tense and his shoulders raised as if he were waiting for someone to come and punch him in the mouth or something. He laughed nervously when the plates were sat on the table, the pudding on the floor completely forgotten about.

Everyone's apprehension quickly dissipated as the evening regained its mellow atmosphere. The party moved itself into the living room, regaling each other on their exploits of the past month over bulbous, stemmed glasses of red wine.

"We're all out of wine." Rod remarked toastily, tipping the bottle fully upside down over his mostly empty glass.

"I have some rum in the cabinet." Ricky offered, getting up.

"No, not rum. Rum is too hard for an evening get-together." Rod tried to maintain social protocol, though at this point his drowsy mind couldn't quite clear up what was and was not correct.

"Don't be ridiculous. Night time is the best time for liquor." Ricky defended his decision, standing on his toes and stretching fully to reach the back of the top cabinet near the corner of the kitchen between the stove and the sink. Rod smirked and shrugged at Nicky who returned the gesture.

"So how are you finding adulthood?" Rod asked Nicky, causing him to turn his head from the similar-looking man pouring his drink.

"Huh?"

"How's life." Rod reiterated.

"Merciless." Nicky smiled, holding his tumbler of rum up as if to cheer his misfortunes. Rod opened his mouth to lecture; possibly relating a series of _if you had's_ and _I told you's_ at him but Nicky didn't allow him the opening. "I started to rent an apartment today. Yesterday. Today. What day is it?" He asked drunkenly. He shook his head, dismissing his own unimportant question. Again, Rod opened his mouth, ready to nag about him being perpetually broke and not being able to afford anything. His intention wasn't to scold meanly, but it had just become such a habit, the mother-hen-clucking just seemed to epilogue all of Nicky's statements. Again, Nicky left no space for Rod's two-cents. "I just couldn't do it." He shook his head again. He continued, his audience captive. "I just couldn't start down that path, yet. I guess I'm just not ready." He paused, looking down at the glass he held in his hands between his knees. "I don't know if I'll ever be ready." His tone took on a somber note. "I just, I don't see how I could start my life when I'm so incomplete."

The air was thoughtful. Each individual sat back, looking off into space, contemplating the weighty words. What does it mean to me? But in truth, the thought processes did not delve much deeper than simply wondering if there was something deeper to be thought of, as the consumption of booze had rendered them all just a little stupid.

Ricky rubbed his hands together, cold and clammy. He could feel his nervous heart in his throat, like readying one's self to be willingly shot. But he had taken it this far. There was only one thing to do. Leave them to their own devices. Let them talk, come to some conclusions. He was currently the x-factor in the equation; a variable that needed to be removed, at least temporarily, to achieve a desired end, what ever that end turned out to be. "Welp, fellas," Ricky said, placing his palms on his knees, pushing himself up off of his place on the coffee table. "I'm heading to bed."

Rod turned and warmly bid him a good night. Nicky quietly raised his now empty glass to him. Ricky took every step trembling. He closed the door, kicked off his shoes, and crawled under the covers fully clothed. He felt restless and scared. It was the unknown that gripped him. But he had to remind himself that this was the only course. As they say, if you love something, let it go, and if it returns, it's yours. If not, it was never yours to begin with. Ricky reminded himself of the wisdom of those words.

In the living room, Rod sat in his comfortable chair and refused an offered refill. Friday nights were perfect for this type of get-together. But a Saturday hangover ruins a weekend. But the two were jovial and nostalgic with one another. In the somewhat un-chained inhibitions, Nicky patted the cushion next to him on the couch, inviting his friend to sit closer. He was absolutely casual about it and Rod, in his drunkenness, thought nothing of it. They sat a respectable distance from one another, even still, and laughed and remembered, and projected their theories about the future.

Conversation gave way to silly "What-If" and "Which Would You Rather" games. The period of time where one would be thinking of an answer or awaiting a response, they'd begin to doze until both had their heads thrown over the back of the sofa, mouths agape, snoring rather unbecomingly.

Sleep is a very strange state to be in. Unconscious of the goings-on of one's environment, eyes closed, minds shut down, everything running at its lowest capacity, and yet still two people can flawlessly find each other. Is it the attraction to the noise another body makes? Or perhaps the warmth emitted? But in the involuntary adjustments of sleep, Rod and Nicky nestled themselves together, awkwardly cheek to cheek, leaning against each other, perfectly unaware.

Incognizant, their unblanketed chill lead them to grasp for one another, and discomfort drove them to lay; Nicky on the couch-cushions he had previously so often inhabited, and Rod atop, half on him, half off of him, firmly in the other's grasp. foggy dreams excited by the skin-on-skin contact of their cheeks pressing together, their hot breath on one another, elucidated in their minds and for Nicky, once again in his fantasy, clutched his former roommate as tightly as his sleep-weakened hands could grip. He nuzzled into the warm, soft flesh of Rod's jaw and murmured helplessly in his slumber.

The physical reactions from his mattress, or perhaps the whimpering mews at his ear, caused Rod's eyes to crack open, bleary. Awake, comfortable, he sighed and placed his head back down. That is, until realization struck. Nicky! Rod flung himself up, a look of terror on his face as if he had found himself in bed with a corpse!

It took a moment to take in his surroundings in the dull gray of the morning. And if he had his druthers, he certainly would have held onto his ignorance a while longer, because as his vision cleared and things began to focus, he noticed Ricky sitting in Rod's own chair. He supported his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped behind his head, which dropped low in his lap. He was still and quiet. The rustle of clothing which accompanied Rod's panic drew Ricky's head up slowly. The look on his face was one of resigned pain.

"Ricky, nothing happened!" Rod whispered loudly, eyes wide shock and hands waving helplessly.

"I know." Ricky said at length. Rod didn't know how to take that. The orange-haired man sat back, his chest tense in agonizing anticipation, waiting for some argument to begin. It didn't. Ricky just sat there, his shoulders slumped, hunched over his lap, looking up forlornly at his significant other, the same hurt expression on his face. He opened his mouth to speak but stood, instead, and walked back to the bedroom.

Rod followed, stopping in the doorway, looking in to where Ricky now sat on the bed. "I don't know what to say. I don't know what I can offer you. Nothing happened. We just fell asleep on the sofa." Ricky sighed a response and scratched the back of his head.

"You wanted to, though. Didn't you? You wish something had happened."

"Oh grow up and feel sorry for yourself, why don't you?" Rod responded angrily. "Look at yourself. Of all the people in the world you'd want to be jealous of, it's Nicky. I don't know a single person in the world who would ever want to be in Nicky's shoes, but you just can't get it out of your head."

"Nicky has something I don't have, and for that I'll be jealous of him. I'll be jealous because his entire adult life he has had you but never knew what to do with you, like some priceless autographed baseball in the bottom of a toybox; always there, but never appreciated."

Rod blushed and felt his mouth go dry. He tried to get back into the fight. "Well I've never seen him exercising the springs of my mattress!" his bawdy choice of come-back showed Ricky he was flustered and grasping. Helpless.

Ricky spoke vehemently back, "You'd go jump him right now if he gave you the time of day!" This was the confrontation Ricky had been anticipating. This is where it would happen – where it would begin or end. It had been a long time coming and Ricky had been the one to set things in motion, but it didn't make it hurt any less. But he couldn't placate now. He had to push into uncomfortable territory and force a decision. Force a change.

"Well he doesn't give me the time of day, does he? So you're prize is perfectly safe in his company." Rod had forgotten the courtesy of keeping quiet so close to the presence of a sleeping person, especially since that sleeping person happens to be the one being argued about.

"Why do you stay with me?" Ricky's voice dropped a few decibels into the level of quiet conversation.

"What kind of question is that?" Rod countered, equally low.

"It's a simple kind of a question. That's what kind. The kind of question you answer in like one sentence, preferably a 3 word sentence."

"You're my boyfriend." The banker responded.

"Not the 3 words I was hoping for, but certainly the ones I was expecting." He shook his head and gave an almost sardonic grin at himself. Gulping in a large breath, he continued. "You don't love me." He stated so plainly. "Have you ever told him?"

"Nicky?" Rod almost choked on the name. If he had been drinking a beverage, it would have been sprayed quite thoroughly over the entirety of the room. "Nicky's straight."

"And you're what? Curved? This conversation sounds awfully familiar to me." Ricky answered. Rod sputtered, trying to form a response but he couldn't decide what should come first, an indignant statement or a befuddled question. "Did you ever tell him?"

"No. Of course I haven't." Rod crossed his arms, his face taking on a pinkish glow and his orange brows tensed low.

"Why not?"

Rod took a moment before answering. He wanted to cry. The emotion prickled at his cheeks and his eyes felt glossy and hot. He sighed and looked up at the door-frame in which he still stood. "Because his presence has always been good enough."

"Apparently it hasn't, otherwise you wouldn't pine for him." Rod looked angry at Ricky's statement, but Ricky proceeded. "What would you do if Nicky came in here, told you he didn't love you, was not interested in you romantically in the least, and that you two could never endeavor to be anything more than friends?"

Rod felt sick. "I'd curl up into a ball and die."

"So it isn't that his presence is enough. It's that as long as you don't tell him, you'll never be rejected. You're caught in a very unhealthy state of limbo, Rod. You need a swift kick in the ass to get you out of it. But I've found out enough. There can never be room in your life or your heart for me. You may be content to live your life in the fantasy that someday the person you love will love you back, but I don't hold myself to such a low standard. You either love me, or you lose me, because I'm worth more than someone to bang on the side while you wait for your prince charming to come around."

Rod's eyes welled with tears but they hesitated to spill, rimming his eyes with a watery lens. He felt the guilt very strongly. He hadn't even realized that's what he had been doing all along. But Ricky was right. He needed a good swift kick in the ass to get him out of this rut. Maybe he could make it work. Maybe he could hang on to this one thing he had in his life, this one person who seemed to care for him and accept him. His heart broke that he had hurt his lover, but what made it hurt even worse was knowing that every word Ricky spoke was the truth. He couldn't give his heart to Ricky 100%. At least not at this point in his life. But if Ricky left, he would be utterly alone! Nicky might not even stay, having a place to live in his boss's house and having his own job. Rod couldn't offer any more than that. And what if Nicky did move back in? Would things go back to the way they had been? Would that ever be enough again? He felt like the butt of a really bad Shakespearian play.

Ricky stood in the midst of Rod's musings. He slipped into his shoes and walked toward Rod who offered a weak smile, acknowledging his approach. Ricky looked down and walked passed him. "Wh- where are you going?"

"To my mom's house. I figured I can crash there until I get another apartment."

Rod was dumbfounded. He certainly hadn't expected such a turn of events! They walked through the living room. Nicky still laid on the couch, curled up, eyes closed, breathing evenly.

"Ricky, Ricky, don't go. Don't go. I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be so callous and unfeeling. I was selfish!" Rod had lowered his voice to a pleading whisper so as to not disturb his guest.

Ricky clapped a hand on Rod's rounded shoulder. "Don't make this harder on me than it already is. If I stay, it will only hurt worse. You still have Nicky."

"Nicky? What do you mean I still have Nicky? Nicky doesn't love me! Having Nicky is like having nothing!" Rod's whisper grew more strenuous and desperate.

Ricky maintained a stoic expression, his voice calm and even. "That's how I felt too."

The sound of movement beside them caused both to look apologetically toward the make-shift bed. Nicky pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"Sorry to wake you, Nicky." Rod offered.

"Nah. I've been awake for a while." He responded softly. Rod suddenly felt his blood seize up and a numbness took over his belly. "I didn't really come here with the intention of causing you to break up. I didn't even know I'd done anything."

"It's okay, Nick." Ricky said, swiping the back of his hand over his nose and sniffling.

"No, I wasn't done." Nicky insisted, holding up a hand to pause any further interruption. "I didn't really do anything, but I have to admit, my intentions weren't exactly in the right place."

"You wanted to move back in?" Rod dared to question.

"Remember, no labels, buddy." Ricky coached, sensing a change in the air.

Nicky reached out, motioning for Rod to help him to a standing position. They stood almost face to face but Nicky kept his eyes cast down at his shoes which he had slept in all night. Red low-top Converse. "I'm just me, ya know?" Nicky kept ahold of Rod's hand, just by the fingertips, and kind of flopped it around, giving him something to focus on. "I don't want to come in like a vulture, picking at the pieces of a broken home, but if I had been smarter, maybe it wouldn't have come to all of this in the first place. Maybe it was good for all of us. I don't know." He shrugged. "If you have any grand designs of me changing the way I am, that's probably not going to happen, at least no big change. I'm just me." Rod's heart sank a little and he felt the urge to unabashedly run away, making a scene the whole way. But he kept his heightened emotions in check. Nicky continued his spiel as he still toyed idly with the other's limp fingers. "But I won't take you for granted anymore. I'll earn a living. It's the best I can do."

Rod sighed. It was the best Nicky could do and it was far more than he could ever, in good conscious, ask of his long-time best friend. He nodded with a slight smile. Ricky patted his other on the back rather hard and gave a little awkward wave. "You two have a lot to talk about. I'll give you a call Rod when I can come and get the rest of my stuff. Hopefully it will be an easy transition." He dallied a little in the doorway, patting his fist on his thigh, taking a long look at the last year of his life summed up in one little room. He closed the door behind him, leaving the roommates to each other. A lot was left to be said.

"You're welcome back any time with open arms, Nicky. I'm sorry I ever asked you to move out. And things will go back pretty much to the way they used to be." Rod wiped a hand over his misty eye, starting to turn away with lofty intentions of breakfast. But his grand notions were halted by Nicky's unwavering grasp on Rod's finger-tips. He turned back to the dark-haired man still holding firm.

Nicky's mouth hung slack for a while as he searched deeply for the rest of what he had intended to say. "I said I won't take you for granted but I'd also hope you'd give me some credit too." Rod shook his head, not understanding what his friend meant, but giving every indication his facial muscles could muster that he would certainly do his best. "I can make my own decisions when presented with the options. Just tell me."

Rod was speechless but the emotional man began to cry again, a pitiful frown tugging the edges of his lips.

"Like I said, I'm just me. You can't expect any great, dramatic change. You're a gentle kind of a person and I can be kind of rough around the edges sometimes. But I don't even know what I'm doing here. I just know that I've felt something for a very long time and I've been afraid to admit to it. It's a little confusing. But a lot of things have happened over the past few months that solidify my resolve."

Rod's face took on a strange combination between smiling and frowning but tears ran torrentially down his face. Nicky took his own shirt-tail and stretched it up, ungracefully wiping it up and down Rod's cheeks to dry them.

"Say anything. Please don't make me be the only one talking. Because I'm getting more and more nervous." He smiled.

Rod smiled too, sobbing out a laugh. "I don't know if I want to say anything. You're doing such a good job, I don't want to mess it up."

"I never thought I'd hear those exact words come out of your mouth talking about me." Nicky laughed.

"I just mean," Rod paused, breathing to steady himself, "I just never thought you'd ever be saying them. How did it all come about?"

"Like I said, I've felt it for a very long time. I would have fantasies and dreams and painful longings. I never let on. But the further you got from me, the worse the pain became and the more vivid my thoughts became."

"Me too." Rod added. But I know that you'll always be you. I could never expect you to change the way you act toward me. It's enough that I know. We don't have to be romantic." Rod said sheepishly.

"If you coach me through it, maybe we could be a little romantic, at least once or twice." Nicky suggested, taking his roommate into his arms and hugging him firmly. The catching of breath followed by a wavering sigh and a breathy, peaceful hum from Rod into Nicky's neck fulfilled a base desire, a yearning that had needed to be realized for so long.

Rod wanted to grope, wanted to kiss, wanted to explore. But in this embrace, a warmth and safety like none he had ever experienced, he felt absolutely blissful. And Nicky felt the same. And for the first time, he felt truly complete. His trek into adulthood had finally commenced, and they'd share coffee, dinners, a bed, and their life – with no labels.


End file.
